


Between Worlds

by becausenobreeches (crucibulis)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Everyone has magic, M/M, No Smut, Witches, individual chapters will have warnings, minor pairing: Josephine/Isabela, minor pairing: Male Trevelyan/Male Lavellan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucibulis/pseuds/becausenobreeches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aka the 'Everyone is a Cute Witch' AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

> Thesis Journal of Enchanter Dorian Pavus
> 
> Circle of Minrathous
> 
>  
> 
> For thousands of years, within those lands under the Chantry’s rule, there have been legends and tall tales, about heroes that were not mages but seemed to have inexplicable magical ability. Warriors who seemed to never take a hit during battle, or rogues that seemed to teleport in and out of thin air. Of course, the truth is often lost to the mists of time. It is fiercely debated whether even Andraste herself was indeed a mage.
> 
> Not to mention the many people during the Dark Ages, that suspected or even knew that they had magical talent, but denied it to themselves and to others, for fear of being taken to the old “Circles” of the south or worse, subjected to the Brand.
> 
> Throughout the Ages, however, there have been those who kept to the “Old Ways,” magical teachings that were not sanctioned by the Chantry, but instead were passed down in secret by mages outside the Circle, by village healers, by Avvar, by Chasind, by Rivaini seers, by Witches of the Wilds.
> 
> Magister Allineas called them ‘hedge mages,’ those who did not hone their connection to the Fade into a proper discipline, and therefore had their magic manifest in some less-than-desirable -- or at least less-than-conventional -- way.
> 
> With the abolishment of the Circles outside the Imperium, the practice of witchcraft has spread, survived and even flourished in the South. It seems however, that no one in Tevinter has looked into the matter since the Tower Age. Our scholarly study of these practices is sorely lacking.
> 
> Which brings me to the question: is it possible that when magic is not trained into the disciplines we know, that new schools of magic could inadvertently be discovered?
> 
> If amongst today’s southern witches, there was even one type of magic unknown to the Imperium, it would still be a tremendous discovery.
> 
> My intention is to stay with a group of these witches -- a Coven, as they call it -- for a semester, to see if I can find a spark of inspiration worthy of my Senior Enchanter's thesis. The Coven has agree to let me stay with them on only a couple of conditions: that I do not use any of their names in my publications, and that I am respectful of everyone’s beliefs and everyone’s personal boundaries.
> 
> And even if I don’t stumble upon something earth-shattering, whatever information I am able to glean, I’m sure would be of enough interest from a historical perspective to be published regardless.

 

* * *

 

Dorian wasn’t sure what he expected when he walked into an arcane shop in East Little Twining, South Denerim. A shop that called itself ‘Haven’ and whose signage, for some reason, spelled magic with a ‘k’. Perhaps he'd find some sad looking potions that were no more than kitchen herbs soaked in water, or some meager collection of trinkets borne out of hedge witch superstitions and old Fereldan wives’ tales. And depending on what kind of aesthetic they were going for, perhaps some creepy animal bones, or intricately sewn robes, or carefully polished crystals, any of which may or may not have had any actual magical value, ‘k’ or no ‘k’.

What he did not expect to be greeted with, was a shelf full of nugs with wings that appeared to be sewn from felt, and the welcoming aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. A cheerful bell rang above his head, as Dorian closed the door behind him and stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust from the late-morning light outside.

“Hello.” And Dorian certainly did not expect to find anyone his age working at this shop. An old, wrinkly spinster, perhaps, with more rings on her fingers than Dorian, and an alarming obsession with cats and an equally alarming lack of concern with nail hygiene. But not a handsome young man, looking entirely normal in his white t-shirt and blue apron and blond curly hair. “Welcome to Haven,” the man said to him, a scar stretching along his top lip as he smiled brightly from behind the register. “Are you looking for anything in particular today?”

Dorian cleared his throat, trying to calm his sudden nerves. What was it again, that had possessed him to think this was a good idea? “I  am, although it's not so much a thing as a person. Josephine Montilyet?”

The shopworker’s eyes dropped to the bag over Dorian's shoulder and the suitcase he had dragged in behind him, as they widened in understanding. “Oh, you must be the Circle mage Josie told us about. I’m Cullen, one of the witches that works and lives here,” the man said, coming around the counter and extending his hand.

“Enchanter Dorian Pavus, of the Minrathous Circle,” he introduced himself as they shook hands. A witch? This one? How could that be, when Dorian felt no magic about him at all?

“Good to meet you Dorian, and welcome. Come right this way.”

Dorian followed behind him, carefully maneuvering his luggage past more tall, wooden shelves. Each section was filled with a different type of item, knitted hats and scarves next to the winged nugs, wooden carvings, small boxes painted with flowers and runic symbols, and yes there were some potions, though they looked entirely legitimate. He was getting the distinct impression he'd underestimated the place.

Ears still ringing from being on the plane, Dorian began to hear giggling voices and the sound of an old vinyl record playing soothing jazz, as they neared the back of the shop.

The sounds came from an open area with a table and a half-circle of chairs. Above it was a sign, that read ‘Demonstrations on Fridays and Saturdays, and by appointment,’ written in beautifully flourishing calligraphy.

The current demonstration -- apparently -- was an elf sitting on a stool, quietly studying something on his phone while a human woman braided primrose blossoms into his fiery-red hair. Dorian recognized the woman, though he was much more accustomed to seeing her face on the screen of his computer, and that just made the whole thing so much more real that his stomach flipped. He was actually here, doing this. It was happening. Oh, Maker.

“Josie,” Cullen called, and both the others looked up at him. “Our guest is here.”

Josephine gasped excitedly. “Dorian?!” she greeted him like he was an old friend she hardly recognized, though they'd only ever exchanged emails. She rushed over to him and pulled him down for an unexpected hug. “I’m so glad that you’re here! How was your flight?” she asked in her pleasant Antivan accent as she pulled away.

“Entirely uneventful, which is how I prefer,” Dorian answered with a smirk, even as he tried to ground himself against her dizzying excitement. “I must say, Josephine, you look even more radiant in person than you do on Youtube.”

“Oh! Well thank you,” Josephine said, clasping her hands together, looking a bit flustered for a moment before she collected herself. “And welcome to Haven. Here, let me introduce you to everyone. You’ve met Cullen, he’s a Coven member and shop associate.”

“Hello,” Cullen waved, smiling at Dorian shyly.

“And this is Voraan,” Josephine said, leading Dorian over to the nearby elf. “He is one of the co-owners of the shop and one of our Council of Three.”

“Welcome, Dorian,” Voraan said as he stood to greet him, an open smile shifting the pale tattoos that stood out against his brown skin. Dorian took his offered hand and tried very hard not to flinch at the intense ice blue of his eyes.  “I understand you’ll be staying with us for a few months?”

“Yes,” Dorian answered, taking a breath so he wouldn't start talking a mile a minute out of nervousness, as he sometimes did. “For my final thesis project I’ve decided to study the work of hedge mages and witches. See if there’s anything that we Tevinters could learn from our southern neighbors.”

Dorian tried not to sound skeptical. He didn’t expect to find anything completely groundbreaking here, but even if he managed to pick up a single wiff of a new school of magic, it would be enough to get him started.

“We’re willing to help, however we can,” Voraan said. “Please let me know if you need anything.”

“That’s very kind of you, err...” Dorian said with a small bow of his head. “Do you have some sort of title I should know about?”

Voraan shook his head, corners of his mouth curling into a smile. “We keep things pretty informal around here. Just Voraan is fine.”

Josephine’s hand fell gently on his arm. “I’m sure you’d like to rest from your journey. Cullen can show you up to your room, if you’d like.”

“Yes, thank you,” Dorian agreed.

“Can I take your bags?” Cullen offered. Handsome and chivalrous too, Dorian thought, Maker preserve him. Between Cullen's eagerness and Voraan's friendly smile, these southern boys were going to be the death of him, and he’d only been here five minutes.

“No no, that won’t be necessary,” Dorian protested, shaking his head.

“I insist. You’ve come all this way,” Cullen pointed out.

“Well, I suppose you can take the small bag, if you _insist,”_ Dorian conceded, just a little flirtatiously, and handed the tote off to one of Cullen’s pink-knuckled hands.

“Oh!” Josephine exclaimed, getting everyone’s attention. “I almost forgot,” she said, and strode over to the table, from which she lifted a crown woven from flowers. Gently handling its orange blossoms, Josephine proudly presented the crown to Dorian. “Begonias, to help with your studies, and embrium for warmth. It does get quite cold here,” she explained.

“You made this for me?” Dorian stared at the crown, unbelieving. She had made a similar crown in her most recent video, the one Dorian had watched right before he left Minrathous. Surely this wasn’t the same one?

“Of course it’s for you!” Josephine assured him. “You don’t have to wear it, though, if you don’t want --”

“Josephine,” Dorian interrupted. “I’d be honored to wear one of your famous creations,” he insisted, and tipped his head down so she could secure the crown into his raven hair. Sure enough, as soon as it was settled, he could feel the tingle of magic washing over his skin. He felt suddenly warmer, the lingering chill from outside fleeing from the tips of his ears and his nose. As for the boost in his intellect, well that remained to be seen.

“Thank you, Josephine. It's lovely,” he told her, causing her to beam a smile. He didn't mention that it didn't really match his green wool coat. But it would seem he was the one out of place anyhow; his expensive, tailored ‘first impression’ outfit almost made him stand out in a bad way against the casual attire of his hosts.

“And for more permanent protection from the cold,” Josephine said, going back to the table for something else, something black and furry.

“Sweet Maker there's more!” Dorian huffed dramatically, though he was always excited to receive gifts, and he knew the smile on his face would show that.

“A scarf made by our own resident Tevinter, Cremisius. Black for protection,” Josephine explained as she draped the woven cloth around Dorian's shoulders. “Not made for you,” she said apologetically, “but I figured black goes with everything.”

“Indeed it does,” Dorian agreed. “And I have to say I've never received a warmer welcome,” he joked to a round of laughter, as he pulled the scarf tighter around himself and felt another tingle of magic cover his skin. Almost like a barrier, but not quite. “On that note, I think I’ll retire,” Dorian said to the pleased onlookers. “All of this generous hospitality has tuckered me right out.”

“This way,” Cullen laughed, ushering him towards a door on the back wall.

“Come back to the shop once you've rested and we'll give you the official tour,” Josephine called out.

“I will! Thank you again.”

 

On the other side of the door, Dorian found himself in a large courtyard, surrounded on all sides by a building three stories high. It was almost noon, and so the sun beamed down on a lush garden full of flowers and herbs, a small green paradise in the middle of the city. High above them, lines of laundry fluttered in the slight breeze, stretched across the balconies at an array of angles. Somewhere out of sight, a set of wind chimes jingled an incidental tune. It was probably the most domestic and quaint picture Dorian had ever seen, and it would have been cute if he hadn't remembered he was staying here for three months.

“You do have… _laundry_ machines here don't you?”

Cullen chuckled, but not unkindly. “We have two sets, so we're all on a schedule for using them. And some people just don't want to wait, or prefer to conserve the energy. Or they don’t like putting cloth they use in spellwork in the machines.”

“I see.”

“The building used to be a school, but we've made a lot of modifications,” Cullen explained as he led Dorian on a stone path that cut across the garden.

Dorian focused his attention on not trampling anything with his suitcase and taking stock of the plants being grown. Elfroot, aloe vera, embrium, roses of several different colors, and a host of other flowers besides. “This must be Josephine’s playground.”

“Right,” Cullen answered. “Though anyone can plant or harvest from the garden with permission. We also buy a lot of herbs to save the homegrown stuff for special spells.”

“Makes sense,” Dorian agreed, though he wasn’t sure exactly what Cullen meant. Special spells. But herbs weren't used for spells. Unless he meant potions?

And then he stopped in his tracks as a particularly _special_ plant caught his eye, one whose seven leaves he wasn't sure he should admit to recognizing.

“Is that…?”

Cullen stopped and turned to see where Dorian was looking. “Oh,” he sighed with amusement. “Cannabis? Yes, it is.”

Surprised, Dorian raised a confused eyebrow at him.

“Don’t worry, we can grow it legally here, since it’s being used for ‘religious purposes.’” Cullen explained, using air quotes to emphasize, and he only sounded half-sarcastic.

“You’re joking,” Dorian accused playfully.

“Not at all,” Cullen assured him. “The law was passed a few years ago. Some people in the legislature are trying to get it overturned, but… in the meantime…” he trailed off with a shrug. “That doesn't bother you, does it?”

“No, no, it's just surprising to see it out in the open. In Tevinter it's still illegal, you see,” he said. “But do the people here actually use it for… ‘religious purposes’?” Dorian prodded.

“Most of the time,” Cullen said with a knowing smirk, and then continued down the path. “I don’t partake myself, and those that do only do so occasionally.”

“So what kind of magic _do_ you do, then?” Dorian inquired as they reached the landing of the stairs.

“I um… I’m good at cleansing and nullifying magic,” Cullen answered, going shy again.

“Well, no wonder I didn’t sense any magic on you,” Dorian realized. “Those skills can be very useful.”

“I suppose, in certain situations,” Cullen shrugged.

“If you got into a fight with another mage and you could nullify their attacks, that would be an instant win, don’t you think?”

“Well, yes,” Cullen admitted, sounding uncertain. “But fortunately -- or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it -- we don’t get into many fights around here. Anyway, here’s your room,” he announced, and pulled out a small brass key to unlock the door.

“Room four,” Dorian read out loud, committing it to memory for later before he followed Cullen inside.

The space was large, being classroom sized, with a few windows that overlooked the street. It was sparsely decorated, but the furnishings looked clean and comfortable, and that was all Dorian could really expect of a guest room, anyway.

“The toilets are down the hall to the left,” Cullen said as he handed Dorian the key. “And showers are in the gymnasium, which I’m sure you’ll see during your tour.”

“Ah,” Dorian replied. So no Enchanter’s suite for him here. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't... this. Kaffas, why hadn't he asked more questions? He’d probably never done something this spontaneous in his entire life.

Sexual encounters didn't count, Dorian quickly decided.

“You didn’t know there weren’t private facilities, did you?” Cullen guessed, wincing.

“Josephine may have failed to mention that part, yes,” Dorian said, twisting one of the curls of his mustache. “Though I don’t blame her, my decision to come was rather… spontaneous.”

“How so?”

“I got the idea to do my thesis on hedge magic through a quite long-winded rant by my thesis advisor,” Dorian explained. “He was wholly dismissive of the notion witchcraft was of any use. So naturally I decided to pursue it just to irritate him.”

“Oh my,” Cullen laughed, and Dorian smiled, pleased to have amused the handsome man. If Cullen actually knew Professor Amladaris, he'd probably be twice as entertained.

 _A useless endeavor, Pavus, one unworthy of the magical superiority of the Imperium,_ he could hear the ancient magister saying even now. _Southern mages can only try to grasp what we have had mastered for a thousand years. They are an insult to the practice of magic._

 _Nothing could be as insulting as your choices in footwear, Professor,_ Dorian had wanted to say.

“I discovered Josephine’s work online.” And by discovered, he meant binge-watched almost every video on her channel in one sitting. “I contacted her, and asked so many questions that she invited me to come here and see for myself. All that happened within the span of a week, and now here I am, your foreign exchange student for the fall.”

“Well…” Cullen said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hope you find the amenities acceptable. At least there's wi-fi,” he pointed out with a wry smirk.

Dorian dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “Beats camping out in the woods, doesn't it? I’m sturdier than I look, I promise.”

Cullen’s eyes cut to the side. “The showers are… ‘communal’ I should point out.”

“Even better,” Dorian responded brightly, though he was scowling on the inside. Thank the Maker for his Altus upbringing that taught him to be gracious in the most difficult of circumstances. Although he supposed if it hadn't been for that, he wouldn't be so spoiled.

“Though I can promise that no one will be leering at you or anything --” Cullen startled then, speaking quickly to correct himself. “Not! Not that you're not… _leer-worthy_ … just… we’re all used to seeing each other naked,” he stammered, his cheeks quickly going pink with heat, to compliment how the tip of his nose was kissed pink by the chill outside. “Is what I was trying to say…”

“That’s fine,” Dorian said, too interested in Cullen’s backward compliment to care about the showers anymore. He was finding it difficult not to picture Cullen naked, however. The Fereldan witch was not _not leer-worthy_ , too, and it was tempting to say as much, if he could find a way to make it smooth.

“Did you at least bring a towel? It's quite important to always know where one’s towel is, you know,” Cullen teased.

“Oh,” Dorian frowned.

 

Arrangements were quickly made for Cullen to grab a towel from his room for Dorian to borrow before he took him downstairs. In the meantime, Dorian put his toiletries together, and a change of clothes, and then took a moment to familiarize himself with his new quarters.

The floor had been covered with a lush carpet, too comfortable beneath his feet to be something original to the school. The walls were a soothing blue color which was mirrored in the fluffy blankets on the bed. Furniture-wise, he had a nightstand, a desk and chair, and a large couch with a coffee table. There was also a counter which must have been used for science lab, that had a sink and a coffeemaker and microwave on it, and a small refrigerator underneath. So at least he wouldn’t have to leave his room to wash up or make a snack.

Then Cullen was knocking on the door, but when Dorian tried to follow him out, the man barely kept from laughing at him.

“What is it?” Dorian prodded him.

“You’ve forgotten some of your accessories,” Cullen snickered, pointing to the crown that was still on top of Dorian’s head. Dorian tsked at himself and went back inside to set the crown and his scarf on the nightstand, and immediately felt chillier for it.

“You can hardly blame me,” Dorian said as he rejoined Cullen outside, and shivered. “I got quite comfortable with them on.”

“Josephine will be pleased to hear that,” Cullen replied cheerfully.

Dorian pondered for a moment. There was no doubt both items had contained powerful magics, though he still wasn’t sure how. “I suppose I understand the flower crown,” he said out loud, starting in the middle of his thoughts. “Though I was not aware embrium had warming magic, or that begonias had any magic at all. But I don't understand how the scarf is enchanted without lyrium.”

“It’s a spell,” Cullen said simply, as if that made perfect sense to him somehow.

“Well yes,” Dorian said carefully, trying very hard not to sound condescending. “But spells cast on an object or person usually have limitations. After a certain period of time, or if the caster leaves the area...”

“No, no,” Cullen waved a hand from where he was walking ahead of Dorian. “I don’t mean that Krem cast a spell on the scarf. The scarf _is_ the spell. As long as the scarf lasts, the spell lasts.”

Dorian stared at the back of Cullen’s head as if it held the all answers. “Come again?”

Cullen glanced back at him for a brief moment, looking daunted at the task of explaining. “Well, magic is about intent, right?”

“Sure.”

“You can wiggle your fingers all you want, but if you don’t intend for any magic to come out, none will,” Cullen said, demonstrating by making his own exaggerated but magicless gesture. “Right?”

“...Right?” Dorian prompted.

“So if Krem makes the scarf with the intent of it having magical properties, then it will,” Cullen asserted.

Dorian wasn’t sure he could walk and comprehend what Cullen was saying at the same time without tripping over himself either physically or mentally, though he tried his best anyway. “...It can’t be that simple.”

Cullen looked back at him again, his expression less patient this time. “If you doubted us, then what are you doing here?” he asked bluntly.

“I don’t doubt that there is magic involved,” Dorian tried. “I just think there might be some... confusion as to the source. There's only so many conduits that can bring magic into the world.”

“That you know of,” Cullen argued.

“That I know of, that the _Circles_ know of, there are three.” And yes, now he _was_ a bit irritated and he _knew_ he sounded that way, knew his grey eyes were beginning to glint like sharpened steel, but _Maker_ this man was getting under his skin. “There is mana. There is lyrium. And there is blood. What you are suggesting is that _intent_ \-- sheer willpower -- is a conduit in and of itself.”

“Something like that.” When Dorian didn't say anything, Cullen looked back to see his incredulous expression, and sighed. “What about elfroot, then?” Cullen pointed out. “It has healing magic, without any of the conduits you mentioned.”

“Alright, yes, there are _some_ items that have inherent magical properties,” Dorian conceded reluctantly. “Are you suggesting that elfroot heals people because it _intends_ to do so?”

The witch audibly spluttered, but recovered just as fast. “No,” he said gruffly. “My point is, if plants can produce magic in ways we don't understand yet, then what’s to say that people can't do the same?”

“I -- just -- think if that sort of thing were possible, the Imperium would have figured it out by now.”

They had reached the showers, and Cullen turned around and leveled him with a stern look. “Well if the Imperium has already figured out everything there is to know about magic, then again that begs the question: what are you doing here?”

Before Dorian could argue or defend himself, Cullen threw him his towel and a pair of shower shoes and strode past him. “...Have a good shower, Enchanter,” he said behind him, and was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dorian:** I WAS RIGHT  
**Dorian:** Fasta vass, Felix, I was actually right  
**Felix:** I take it you landed safely? :)  
**Dorian:** The potential here is far greater than I could ever have anticipated  
**Dorian:** There are things going on here that I don’t even _understand_  
**Felix:** Yes the relationships between Fereldans and their dogs is quite incomprehensible, I’m sure  
**Dorian:** I’m talking about the MAGIC  
**Felix:** Oh.  
**Felix:** Really?  
**Felix:** You’re serious?  
**Dorian:** Curse the Imperium’s Circles and our tendency to turn up our noses at anything interesting if it happens beyond our borders  
**Dorian:** There is a veritable treasure trove of magic going on here, in Denerim of all places  
**Felix:** Wow, Amladaris will be sooo thrilled with you, Dor!  
**Dorian:** Right? I almost don’t want to share. I’m not sure he deserves it  
**Felix:** How did you end up with him as your advisor again?  
**Dorian:** I don't know, they have some sort of rotation. I had no say in it, obviously.  
**Felix:** Ugh, Circle politics. He won’t reward your defiance, even if it does lead to something substantial  
**Dorian:** I know, but it will be worth it if I can surpass him  
**Dorian:** Alright, have to go, it’s time for my first Fereldan meal  
**Felix:** Well it’s been nice knowing you  
**Dorian:** Har har  
**Felix:** I hope you remembered me in your will  
**Dorian:** I’m not sure you get to joke about that sort of thing :T  
**Felix:** I’m the only one that gets to joke about that sort of thing. Now go eat.  
**Dorian:** Fine  <3  
**Dorian:** P.S. I have been in Ferelden almost one entire day and have yet to see a single dog  
**Dorian:** I’m almost disappointed  
**Felix:** GO EAT  
**Dorian:** :)

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian's nap lasted almost until dinner, but he managed to wake up in time for Josephine to show him around the rest of Haven. She showed him the workshop where the witches made some of their more involved creations, and the library where they kept a healthy collection of magic textbooks as well as fictional novels, movies and video games for all of them to share. After that, Josephine led him to the dining hall for his first meal with the Coven.

“We converted the cafeteria into a sort of common room for people to gather,” Josephine was saying as Dorian took in the space. “We have most of our Coven meetings here, and meals, and this is generally where you’ll find everyone hanging out in the evenings. I love this space.”

Dorian nodded. He could see why. The room looked more like an indie coffee shop than a bland school cafeteria. There were warm light fixtures spread throughout, illuminating a dozen or so tables with mismatched chairs that were already starting to fill up with people. A few couches and recliner chairs had been placed at the edge of the space, and one wall had been completely covered in a triptych-style mural. Dorian gestured up at the ceiling. “Those skylights look like a recent addition.”

“Oh yes,” Josephine confirmed. “The space didn’t have much natural light, so we added the skylights to brighten it while still maintaining a cozy feel. We’ve made lots of improvements to the building to make it more like a home instead of a… ‘facility’.”

“I would say that you’ve succeeded,” Dorian agreed.

“Come on,” Josephine said, leading him over to a door that Dorian knew must be the kitchen from the sounds coming from inside. “I’ll introduce you to one of our other leaders.”

Once inside, Dorian was greeted with a set of vertically twisting horns, that were peeking over the glass guard on the serving line. “Hey, Josie,” a deep female voice called, as the two of them made their way around to the back side of the kitchen. As Dorian suspected from the accent, the chef and second leader of the Haven Coven was a vashoth.

“Our guest from Tevinter is here,” Josephine told her, and formally introduced the two of them.

“Oh hey,” the qunari greeted with a handsome smile, pulling off a plastic glove. She offered Dorian a hand the color of grey stone that had been warmed by the sun and smoothed by a river. “Herah Adaar, but everyone just calls me Adaar. Good to meet you.”

“Please to meet you, as well,” Dorian replied. “I suppose I should try to get on the good side of the woman in charge of the food.”

Adaar’s hearty laugh echoed through the space. “Not a terrible idea. I’m also in charge of sorting the mail, room assignments,” she listed off on her fingers, “maintenance requests, and requisitions. And I bake for the shop.”

“My goodness, a powerful woman indeed,” Dorian drawled. “How do you find time for all of it?’

“I make time,” Adaar almost purred, brown eyes crinkling as she referred to her workspace with a sweeping hand. Dorian followed the gesture, and after taking it all in for a moment, his eyes went wide with shock at what he saw.

“Time magic?” he exclaimed. “You’re using time magic!”

“I am,” answered Adaar, one brow raising a bit at Dorian’s reaction.

Dorian shook his head, not believing his eyes. “Time magic wasn’t discovered in the Imperium until a few months ago. I should know, I worked on that team during my apprenticeship.”

“Well, I’ve been using these spells for about…” Adaar thought about it for a moment, counting on her long fingers. “Ten years.”

Dorian’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Beside him, Josephine was watching this exchange with a bemused expression. “You might have told somebody,” Dorian sniffed, then smirked to show that he was joking. “You could have saved us a lot of trouble you know.”

Adaar chuckled. “I’ll be sure to write the Imperium next time.”

“See that you do,” Dorian teased loftily. “Now quickly, tell me how all of this works.”

Dorian and Adaar spent a few minutes ‘talking shop’. The witch had set down a magical field, ranging from the stove all the way to the end of the nearby counter. On one end, time moved quicker than normal speed, cooking the food in the oven in a fraction of the normal time without burning it. To create balance, the time was robbed from the opposite end, where Adaar kept the produce and fresh herbal ingredients. Thus they would ripen and dry out at a much slower rate. A more domestic application than the projects Dorian had worked on under Alexius, but still no less impressive.

What intrigued Dorian the most, however, was that Adaar claimed the power of her magic was channeled through a set of strange sigils she had created with elaborately knotted ropes, and hung from hooks around the space. Apparently it was too complex to explain briefly, so Dorian promised to take it up with her some other time.

Curiosity mostly sated, Dorian commended Adaar on her work and then he and Josephine went through the serving line to fix up their trays. Everything smelled delicious, and Dorian knew that he’d piled up more things on his plate than he could ever actually eat in one sitting.

Then Josephine led him over to a round table where he saw a couple of familiar faces, namely Cullen and Voraan.

“Here, Dorian you can sit next to Milo,” Josephine offered, leaving an empty space for him next to a human man with long brown hair that was tied up in a messy bun. “Milo, this is our guest from Tevinter, Dorian Pavus.”

“Oh, right,” Milo replied, standing as Dorian put down his tray. “Welcome to Haven. I’m Milo Trevelyan.” Then he turned to a small girl that was sitting beside him. “Millie?”

Pushing her dark brunette hair back behind her shoulder, the girl stood from her chair and came to stand beside Milo, as the man put a hand across her back. “And this is my daughter, Amelia.”

“How do you do?” Amelia said shyly as she offered her hand.

“Pleased to meet both of you,” Dorian said, and regarded them with a small bow as he shook Amelia’s hand.

“I understand you’ve already met my husband, Voraan,” Milo said, gesturing to the elf beside him, and then the opposite side of the table. “And Cullen.”

“I have,” Dorian responded, as Voraan greeted him with a wave, and Cullen with a less than friendly nod. “Though I didn’t realize the two of you were married. And you’re both on the Council?”

“Yes, but don’t worry,” Voraan laughed. “That doesn't mean we always vote as a block.”

“Down there next to Josephine is Leliana,” Milo said, referring to a woman with short red hair, and then gestured to an empty chair. “And I trust you met Adaar in the kitchen?”

“I did. Some quite splendid magic she’s doing in there. Not to mention the spellwork,” Dorian joked as everyone took their seats.

It was then that Dorian noticed there were not just people at the table. Floating next to Amelia was a small winged creature, about kitten-sized, that from its hoofs and small nubs for horns, appeared to be a goat with wings. “I -- what’s that you’ve got there?” he asked in awe.

“This is Shammy,” Amelia answered simply.

“I’ve, err, never met a ‘Shammy’ before,” Dorian admitted.

“It’s a summoned creature of sorts,” the girl’s father explained. “Krem sews them, and then we have a friend at a sister coven that helps bring them to life. Leliana has one as well.”

The redhead picked up the winged nug that she had apparently been keeping in her lap. “Schmooples the Second,” she said by way of introduction.

“Bull has one as well,” Voraan reminded them, gesturing to another qunari at a table across the room. Sure enough, resting on ‘Bull’s’ huge horns was a small dragon, fluttering its wings to keep stable with its owner’s head movements.

“Fascinating,” Dorian declared. “Is some kind of spirit bound to them?”

“Yes, the spirits approximate the animal’s behavior and personality,” Josephine explained. “Except some liberties are taken to make them more tame. Bull’s Ataashi, for example, is more cat than dragon.”

“Don’t tell Bull that, though,” Milo muttered, and several people at the table laughed in agreement.

“So, the nugs in the shop, are they...?” Dorian started.

“No,” Voraan answered, shaking his head. “They’re just toys. The magic required to animate is… complicated and more of a grey area than most people are comfortable with being around.”

“Surely not blood magic?” Dorian guessed, looking at Shammy with alarmed eyes where he was now resting on Amelia’s shoulder.

“Definitely not,” Milo assured him. “We don’t allow any blood magic on the premises.”

“But it is bone magic and the binding of spirits,” Voraan added. “Sort of akin to necromancy.”

“Ah,” Dorian said, moving food around his plate with his fork, trying to think of how to word his next statement carefully. “I know a thing or two about necromancy. I’d like to study one of these creatures, if it would be permitted.”

“Good luck getting Shammy away from Amelia,” Leliana spoke up. “But I would be glad to let you study Schmooples, as long as you promised to return her in one piece. She is very dear to me.”

“I completely understand, and I promise to handle her with care.”

“Or we can set you up with our friend who makes them,” Josephine suggested. “Perhaps she could do a demonstration.”

“That would be appreciated, thank you.”

Dorian spent the rest of the meal answering varying questions about Tevinter, and himself, and observing the antics between the different people at the table. All of them except for Cullen, whose silence was the source of some amount of awkwardness, though it was skillfully covered up with the easy conversation of the others.

Then there was the little one beside Milo, with her pet flying goat. Amelia seemed more interested in trying to feed Shammy than feeding herself, though the goat didn’t seem too interested in real food, even if he liked to tug on her hair with his tiny toothless mouth.

“Eat your carrots, sweetheart,” Milo reminded her at one point, causing the little girl to sulk.

“I’m not hungry.”

Milo just chuckled at this affectionately. “Honey, your father is an empath. That means I can tell when you're just saying you're not hungry because you don't want to eat vegetables.”

At this, Amelia pouted even harder, pushing her carrots around on her plate without making any move to put one in her mouth.

“It’s like your favorite book,” Milo tried. “You just have to learn to appreciate foods by trying them.”

“I don’t want to eat shoelaces,” Amelia argued, causing Dorian’s brow to furrow in confusion, and Voraan to burst into laughter at the scandalized look on Milo’s face.

“Not what I meant,” Milo protested, looking embarrassed as he glanced at Dorian. “At all. I promise.”

“Her favorite book,” Voraan explained, as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Is Gregory the Terrible Eater. It’s about a goat that is a picky eater and doesn’t like to eat trash. He likes healthy food. So they try feeding him spaghetti with shoelaces in it, to get him used to ‘goat-appropriate’ food a little at a time.”

“I see,” Dorian said with a thoughtful tip of his head. “So you like books, do you, Miss Amelia?”

She nodded, her face still quite serious and guarded.

“That’s something we have in common. And if you were anything like me, I imagine it was hard when you began to learn to read, but it’s easier now, yes?” Dorian tried, and she nodded again, her expression not quite as closed off as it had been a moment ago. “Trying new foods is like that. Your tongue has to learn how to read, too.”

“Well said,” Milo commended him grandly. “You know, Enchanter, I think we’ll let you stay.”

“Careful, Dorian, or they’ll rope you into babysitting,” Adaar warned with a teasing smile from where she’d taken her seat next to Cullen. And Dorian noticed that even Cullen was grinning now, even if he quickly covered it up when he saw that Dorian was looking. “No pun intended,” Adaar added, which was apparently some kind of inside joke that she shared with the rest of the table.

And even when the conversation turned to other things, everyone at the table shared secret smiles with each other as Amelia ate _all_ of her carrots.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Dorian stepped into the shop, letting his feet fall lightly so as not to disturb the peaceful stillness he found there. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was back in the Circle library, tucked in a back corner somewhere with an old text and a smuggled-in hot beverage.

Gone were the days, however, when he could study in the safety and comfort of the indoors. Today’s magic lesson was apparently to take place at the farmers’ market. For some reason. Dorian reckoned he would find out the logic in that soon enough.

As he waited for his teachers, he had a moment to peruse the shop's wares a bit more than he had on his arrival. He waved to Voraan, who was standing over at the front counter, taking inventory of a shipment. It was being delivered by a blond dwarf, with no beard but an impressive amount of chest hair.

Then he meandered down an aisle that was essentially a weapon rack full of staves, and then another shelf full of daggers. The shop seemed to have a little bit of everything, from tarot decks, to ‘ethically sourced’ animal bones, to some of Adaar's rope-woven sigils, to ‘Enchantments by Dagna’ as a sign read. And a shelf full of books on magic, some of which, from the binding, looked independently published.

Wandering to the far side, he found Cullen, sorting a row of small glass bottles, each one neatly labeled with the name of a different type of herb. As the blond picked up each bottle, he seemed to meditate on it, and then a tiny flurry of blinding-white wisps would appear, dance around the bottle for a moment, and then disappear just as quickly.

The witch glanced over at him, and his expression hardened before he returned his attention to his task. “Enchanter,” Cullen greeted curtly.

Dorian knew he should be nervous, but with every step he took towards Cullen, he felt a little bit braver, a little bit more at ease. Perhaps that was just a sign he was doing the right thing, so he didn’t question it overly much. “I… wanted to apologize.”

Cullen stopped and stared at him then, looking, if not gobsmacked then certainly gobsmacked-adjacent. Dorian tried not to feel too smug about defying the man’s expectations; he was here to dig himself out of a hole after all. Nowhere to go but up.

“I was an arrogant prick yesterday,” he admitted. “I came here expecting to… I’m not sure. I expected that I would understand more about the magic used here than you all did. And… that’s clearly not the case. I realize that now.”

Cullen didn’t say anything, just shifted on his feet, looking a bit daunted as if no one had ever apologized to him in his life, for anything.  

“So, I’m sorry for my ignorant comments,” Dorian said. “And I hope that perhaps you can forgive me, and we can start over.”

“Well, no harm done,” Cullen replied hesitantly. “Apology accepted.”

“No hard feelings?”

Cullen gave him an almost perplexed look. “No? Your closed mindedness could hurt no one but yourself. Probably.”

Dorian made a thoughtful noise. “Having second thoughts on that part?” he lightly teased.

“I suppose it depends on _which_ way you look at it,” Cullen said with a subtle smirk.

“What?” Dorian frowned in confusion, and then Cullen started chuckling. “Oh… Sweet Maker he actually has a sense of humor,” Dorian grumbled, trying and failing to sound displeased. “Well at any rate, I shall definitely try to be less dense in the future.”

“Good to hear,” Cullen said as he went back to cleansing the bottles, and checking the date on the bottom of each one before putting them back. He looked at Dorian out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t say anything else.

“I promise I’m not just hanging around to pester you,” Dorian offered to fill the silence. “I’m going out with Milo and Josephine for my first lesson today, and I’m meeting them here.”

“Hopefully it turns out to be your second lesson,” Cullen reminded him with a significant look. “I’d hate to think the first one was lost on you.”

Dorian had the decency to feel justly admonished. “Right.”

Cullen looked over again, his honey colored eyes warm but a bit regretful. “That... was also a joke. Sort of. And you’re not pestering me. Not… not really.”

Dorian had heard that kind of stammering from Cullen once before. He recognized it from the previous day when Cullen had insisted in a roundabout way that Dorian was worthy of being leered at.

He was distracted from that thought, as he noticed something sparkly fluttering in the blond curls by Cullen’s ear. Realizing what it was, he barely stifled a grin.

“What?” Cullen suddenly looked very self-conscious. “Is there something on my face?”

Dorian pointed to the source of his amusement. “You have a stowaway,” he explained, then wandered closer. “Here, let me get it.”

“Um, alright?”

Cullen tried to watch, looking nervously out of the corner of his eye as Dorian stepped into his space and brushed a finger into his hair, pulling the tiny wisp into his hand. “Here, see?” he said, bringing it around to Cullen’s line of sight.

“Oh,” Cullen breathed a laugh, and scooped the bright ball of light into his own hand, into which it seemed to disappear. “Yeah, that happens sometimes. Thanks.”

Standing this close, Dorian suddenly noticed a strange feeling flooding through him. Soothing, comforting, like slipping into the bathtub at the end of a long day, and being cleansed of a layer of irritating dust and dirt. He was startled by it, so much so that he just stood there looking blankly into Cullen’s gorgeous amber eyes.

Dorian only realized how close the two of them were standing, and how they were looking at each other with a certain amount of interest, and had just touched hands rather familiarly, when Milo and Josephine rushed into the shop, empty shopping bags on their shoulders.

“Hey there,” Milo greeted them, looking between Dorian and Cullen quickly before settling on the newcomer. “Ready to go?”

“Sure thing.” Dorian answered and the three of them headed to the front door.

“Hey Varric,” Milo called to the dwarf on their way out, and got a simple _‘ yo’_ in response.

“No broomsticks?” Dorian teased as he followed them out onto the street, even as that soothing feeling drained out of him, replaced by a strange unfeelable itch that seemed to awaken somewhere deeper than his bones. How curious and annoying.

“Nah, the broom parking is terrible this time of day,” Milo quipped with a charming smile. “Might as well take the train.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to say so last chapter, but Voraan Lavellan belongs to my friend heartsung  
> Milo and his daughter Amelia are my OCs. And Adaar was created for this fic.
> 
> This is one of two chapters to give a feel for the setting, secondary characters, and the crazy thing I'm doing with magic in this story, and then by chapter 4 we will be back to the flirting and the plot. I'm going to be blitzing through a bunch of information in regards to the mechanics of this AU next chapter, and I have cut a bunch of stuff that wasn't relevant to the plot so all of the exposition doesn't feel too info-dumpey. So if you have any questions about the lore for this story, characters, or whatever, hit me up at becausenobreeches.tumblr.com and I'll be glad to talk about it AT LENGTH.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

> Types of magic encountered, to interview individuals for details.
> 
>   
>  Flower and herbal magic - J.M.  
>  Wards and protection magic - M.T.  
>  Rope and knotwork, sigil magic - H.A.  
>  Sex and bondage magic - I.B.  
>  Knitting magic - C.A.  
>  Nullification magic - C.R.  
>  Storm magic - V.L.  
>  Summoned creatures - ???

 

* * *

 

Dorian suspected that the farmers’ market (which -- surprise -- was not just for farmers) would not have been nearly as enjoyable an experience if it wasn’t for the company. As someone who very rarely did his own cooking, there wasn’t much for Dorian to appreciate about produce beyond the mere aesthetic of so many vibrant colors. However Josephine’s enthusiasm about the fresh flowers, and Milo’s almost child-like and wide-mouthed glee about anything miniature: tiny berries, tiny eggplants, tiny cakes, tiny dogs owned by other market goers, were really what made the trip contagiously joyful.

After accumulating quite a haul, the three of them went over to a nearby Antivan food truck, where it was insisted that Dorian try something called ‘tacos.’ Then they walked to a park a few blocks away, and found a picnic-style bench to sit at and have their meal, Dorian on one side, and Josephine and Milo on the other.

“Is there any particular reason for the lesson to be here?” Dorian inquired as he inspected his food.

The man across from him shrugged. “I just wanted tacos,” he replied bluntly.

This earned him a jab from Josephine's elbow. “Milo,” she scolded, though she was laughing at the same time.

“What, that's what you do for international guests, isn't it?” Milo defended himself with a smirk. “‘Welcome to Denerim, here's a bed, here's where you get the best tacos in town, and here's how to do witchcraft.’ I'm just trying to be a good host,” he insisted, then winked at Dorian.

Josephine just shook her head, looking exasperatedly fond. If it hadn’t been for their difference in accents and appearances -- Josephine with the dark hair and warm brown skin of an Antivan, and Milo with the brunette hair and pale complexion of a Marcher -- he might have assumed they were siblings.

“Anyway. Witchcraft lesson number one,” Milo announced, as Dorian bit into his first taco. “Power. What makes you feel powerful?”

Dorian blinked at him as he swallowed, caught off guard by the question. “How do you mean?”

“Think of something that makes you feel invincible,” Milo suggested. “High on life, as it were. Like you could do anything.”

He considered this for a moment, trying to picture a time in the past that met that description. “Nothing comes to mind, honestly,” he finally admitted.

Milo made a surprised but thoughtful noise. “We’ll work on that,” he said, waving the thought away with a hand. “So here’s the thing about witches and mages. Not all mages are witches, obviously, but not all _witches_ are _mages_. Neither Josie or I have access to mana, which would allow us to directly pull magic from the Fade. But we can still do magic.”

“Really.” Dorian suddenly realized that he was in desperate need of a paper towel, sauce running down his hand and threatening to get on his clothes, but out of nowhere Milo reached across the table and handed him one. That would be the empath abilities, Dorian guessed. How convenient. “Thanks.”

“Yes, absolutely. So beside your mana, you have another type of energy: the kind you have just by being alive. In historical texts, we sometimes see this called ‘stamina’. We witches usually just call it energy, though. Everyone has this, and while it _is_ more difficult, you _can_ _use_ it to do magic.”

Dorian just stared at him, the kind of look he'd learned could press upon people to be more honest, though it had no effect on the witch. “That is… the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard,” he said haltingly, and Milo laughed.

“Oh, it gets better!” he assured Dorian, leaning in to the table. “As an empath, I am able to sense this energy moving around you like an aura. I can usually tell what kind of magic a person does the most, _and_ what kind of mood they’re in. When you’re happy, it swirls around you faster. When you’re sad, it becomes more lethargic. But if you want to do magic, you want to feel on top of the world.”

“Hence your original question,” Dorian supplied.

“Right. Some common answers might be: listening to an epic rock song, driving too fast on the highway, meditating on the roof, praying to your gods, et cetera,” Milo explained.

Dorian realized he should probably be writing all of this down, but wasn't sure he wanted to get taco sauce all over his journal. “What gods do witches pray to?” he asked.

Milo shook his head. “I don’t pray to any gods, but it varies from witch to witch.”

“Some of us are Andrastian, or Dalish,” Josephine added. “And we even have some that pray to the Old Gods.”

Taken aback, Dorian froze in the midst of another bite of taco. _“Truly?”_

“It is not common, but it does occur,” Josephine answered. “As you'll come to understand, every witch does things differently, and believes differently. So what I say only really applies to me. It may not apply to Milo or anyone else in the Coven.”

“So what unifies you together as a Coven?” Dorian asked.

“A few basic guidelines,” Milo answered with a small shrug. “Mostly that we agree to be respectful of each other and our different beliefs. And as I said before, we don’t allow blood magic.” Then he turned to Josephine. “Here, you talk for a minute so I can eat my tacos.”

Grinning, Josephine closed her eyes as if to keep from rolling them visibly, but dutifully picked up the lesson. “Energy,” she began. “You learn to see the power in everything. Busy streets, tall buildings, the serenity in a park… it just depends on what kind of power you need to absorb, and for what type of spell.”

Ah, now they were getting somewhere. “So how do you do a spell, then?”

“Because we can’t access the Fade directly, we have to channel our energy into some kind of ritual, made up of actions and objects that represent what we want to accomplish. Usually, we incorporate a particular element such as fire or water. Milo and I are both considered earth witches, for instance.”

“So making a flower crown is a ritual,” Dorian guessed, the concept coming to him in shards like the sunlight that shone on them through the trees.

“That's exactly right,” she answered cheerfully. “I focus my energy on collecting the perfect flowers and weaving it together, and that converts my energy into the magical properties I want it to have.”

Dorian opened his mouth and quickly shut it again, choosing his words carefully. He had promised Cullen that he would try. “Is it at all possible that the ritual is just…” he made a vague gesture with his hands, “extraneous?”

Josephine shook her head adamantly. “That is our way of expressing our intentions to change reality in some way.”

Processing this, Dorian nodded, trying to wrap his head around all of it. “So give me another example of a ritual.”

At this, Milo perked up, and then leaned down to pull a few items from his shopping: a small bag of blackberries and a lemon he'd bought at the market. “Blackberries, for protection,” Milo explained. “Part of the ritual is selecting berries that are dark and in good condition.” Then he pulled one berry out and crushed it, squeezing its juice into the empty wrapper where his taco had just been. Then he dabbed his finger in the reddish-purple liquid and began to carefully draw on his forearm.

“Then you eat some, because they’re tasty,” Milo added with a smirk. “Delicious things make me happy. I focus that happy energy on empowering the sigil, guarding myself against danger, both inside and out.”

When he was done, he twisted his arm so Dorian could see the symbol he had drawn, a triangle inside a circle. The juice looked red against Milo’s skin, and if he hadn't watched the man apply it he might have mistaken it for some kind of chemical burn. He pointed to the other fruit on the table. “What's the lemon for?”

“Cleanup,” Milo said with another lopsided grin, and pulled out a knife. He cut the lemon open just enough to squeeze out some of the juice and wash the red stain from his fingers. “Now hit me with some magic,” he instructed Dorian as he wiped off with another towel.

Brows shooting up, Dorian looked over at Josephine who seemed unperturbed, then back to Milo. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Something small of course, let’s not get carried away here,” Milo amended nervously. “I know you do death magic, but let’s make it just a little death.” Then his eyes went wide. “Wait -- I didn’t mean -- don’t tell my husband I said that,” he entreated, his cheeks suddenly matching the red stain on his arm.

Chuckling, Dorian cast the tiniest spell of dread he could muster, and sure enough, Milo didn’t seem affected by it at all. “Hmm,” the witch said, as if he'd just tasted a new food and couldn't quite decide if he liked it. “Yeah that tingled a bit. A bit more this time,” he challenged, and Dorian answered with something that had a bit more bite.

“Woo!” Milo shuddered, and though he was still giggling, it was clear he was close to his limit. “Okay, that was weird,” he announced.

“So, is that in a book somewhere that I could read?” Dorian asked, pointing to the symbol on the man’s arm.

“Nope. Made it up.”

As if the whole thing could get any more bizarre. “You just… made it _up?”_

“Sure,” Milo replied easily. “I mean you _can_ use rituals that are put together by other people. But what works best is something that has significance to _you,_ and makes sense to _you._ You could ask every witch what they do to protect themselves from harm and get a different answer from each of them.”

“So… the spell works because you like blackberries,” Dorian summarized doubtfully.

“Because I _believe_ that the blackberries represent protection,” the witch corrected with an unphased kind of patience, as impervious and immovable as earth. “And because I believe that the sigil does as well. They all work together. Layers upon layers of faith that eventually form into something tangible.”

“Well suppose that I have faith, that a sovereign planted in the ground will grow into a money tree,” Dorian argued smugly. “Will that work?”

The brightness in Milo’s eyes and his answering smile were too genuine for someone being trapped in their own logic. _“Do_ you believe that it would?” he murmured with one amused finger over his mouth.

Dorian smiled right back at him, pleased that the witch saw the wit behind his inquiry. “No, but that’s not what I asked, is it?”

Milo just laughed, but Josephine interjected with an actual verbal reply. “That is a matter of having respect for the powers of the universe,” she explained. “And the way the universe works, is that you get what you give. A ritual’s effectiveness is proportional to how much effort you put into it. Burying a sovereign isn’t a lot of work compared to what you're asking for. Maybe if you buried it in a particular place, on a particular day of the year --”

“-- Facing north at midnight,” Milo added, “after dancing in nothing except a pair of deer antlers --”

“...It might increase your prosperity in the coming days, but it’s not going to literally sprout out of the ground,” she concluded, suppressing a giggle. “And that’s only if you believe.”

Milo nodded in agreement. “And meanwhile you’re out a sovereign,” he pointed out.

Dorian narrowed his eyes, comparing this to what he'd just witnessed. “But squeezing blueberries and drawing on yourself…”

“Protected me from magic that did not really intend to hurt me, let's be honest,” Milo finished for him. “That's not as huge an alteration to reality as a literal money tree. If you were to shoot me, I would still _probably die,_ and if I were going to be in a real fight, I would have to do more rigorous preparations.”

“Alright,” Dorian conceded, and let go of some tension in his muscles he hadn't realized he was holding. “Let me ask you this. I was told this scarf also grants protection. Is it the same thing? Does it only protect me if I _believe_ it will?”

Josephine shrugged noncommittally. “It would help if you did believe, obviously. But it is Krem’s magic. So it works because he made it with the belief and the intent that it would protect the wearer.”

“By weaving it in black?”

“That is part of it…” she allowed. “I know depending on the purpose, Krem might knit with certain types of yarn, at certain times of day or with certain needles.”

“I suppose I could just ask Krem about that.” Dorian conceded.

“Indeed you could,” Milo agreed. “He's only around in the evenings though. He's one of us that has a real job.”

 

* * *

 

But when Dorian finally did catch up to Cremisius in the hours after his substitute teaching gig, he was lucky to get more than single-word answers out of the man.

“So you used black for protection?”

“Yep. Against magic, specifically,” Krem answered, not taking his eyes off of his current project.

“And what kind of yarn is it made of?”

“Acrylic.”

Dorian scribbled in his notebook, trying to appear unphased. One didn’t have to be an empath to tell that Krem didn’t like what he was asking. “And why did you use that particular material?”

“Because it’s warm and machine washable.”

Dorian cleared his throat and fidgeted with the ring on his index finger. “If this is a bad time --”

“Look,” Krem interrupted, lowering his knitting needles and fixing him with a glare Dorian assumed was usually reserved for unruly students, not exactly threatening but definitely unimpressed. “The counsel said that we should help you educate yourself. They didn’t say we had to give up trade secrets, and they _definitely_ didn’t say we had to be friends.”

“I see.” Dorian said coldly.

Krem went back to his knitting. “Trev and Lily may not, but I have a bad feeling about you. No telling what your real purpose is for being here, but I’m watching you, Altus. And I’m not the only one.”

“I can assure you, I’m really just here to learn.”

Krem glanced up from his work, still acutely unimpressed. “And then you turn around and do _what_ with that knowledge? Probably not anything good. But we’ll see, won’t we?”

Dorian sat up in his chair, rising up to his full height, the posture and grace of an Altus as he formulated his retreating quip. “You know, threats like that would probably go over better if you weren’t knitting child sized mittens at the time.”

That earned him a dark laugh from his countryman, the witch holding up one knitting needle with a gleam in his eye. “To be fair, these things are plenty sharp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It all makes sense in my head, I promise ._.  
> But if it doesn't to you, totally hit me up with questions here or on tumblr!
> 
> And next chapter is so fun. I can't wait. Will post soon.


	4. Chapter 4

 

> Visited Haven’s sister coven today, Kirkwall, so named for being housed in an old Chantry building. Met a spirit healer (and his resident spirit), two werewolves, a tarot witch, a sun witch, and the mage who makes the summoned creatures. Made appointment for follow-up demonstration.
> 
> Received tarot reading. Took notes for later verification:
> 
> Someone in my past has driven me to be unfairly critical of myself, and that has led me to my current situation. Because of this I am obsessed with my ambitions and may be developing a dependence on alcohol in order to cope with the stress. In my relentless drive to perform in order to impress others and the previously mentioned person from my past, I am pursuing magic study for external results instead of personal fulfillment. I need to let go of these motives and listen to my own intuition about what is best for me. I hold the answers within, but am probably not going to listen, blah blah, warning, blah blah, doing the right thing for the wrong reasons blah blah blah.

 

* * *

 

“I know, right? And it’s not as if it were _prompted,_ mind you,” Dorian said. “Nobody _asked_ . One minute Amladaris was giving a lesson on the diminishing return series, and the next minute, he was going off about how witchcraft was a _disgrace_ and how _witches have as much significance as a cigarette butt that would be ground under the Imperium’s heel._ So I thought, ‘What did witches ever do to you?’ and I started looking into it, and here I am.”

“So it was like, reverse psychology,” Cullen chuckled.

“Well I don’t think he meant it as such,” Dorian allowed, as he moved a bishop from a black diagonal to a white diagonal. “But absolutely, yes.”

Yes, he was cheating. Cullen knew he was cheating, too. Dorian knew that Cullen knew that he was cheating, but still they just sat there and played as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary. With Cullen playing fair and still close to winning, the bastard.

The cafeteria turned into a game room on most nights after dinner, especially on a night like this where the storms rolled in from the sea and ‘rained cats and dogs’ as they liked to say in the south. Most everyone was in the common area staying dry, and taking up cards or a board game or some other diversion from the lightning and thunder outside.

“Where are your fearless leaders, tonight?” Dorian inquired, noticing that Amelia was hosting a tea party for Leliana and Josephine with her parents nowhere to be seen.

“Being fearless, I suspect,” Cullen answered, apparently unconcerned.

“How so?”

“Voraan is a storm witch,” Cullen reminded him. “So they’re probably up on the roof.”

“On the _roof?”_ Dorian repeated, brows shooting up. “Are they mad?”

“He draws energy from it. Power. Every witch has something like that, that recharges their batteries, so to speak,” Cullen explained with a shrug. “Voraan prefers to do his spellwork during storms like this, and Milo helps him. That, or they’re just making out,” he added with a smirk and a roll of his eyes. “Even odds on that one.”

“Interesting,” Dorian said, making a fair attempt at not picturing the two of them wrapped around each other, kissing fiercely, clothes soaked to skin-tightness. “And what recharges your batteries, exactly?”

“Just the opposite, I suspect,” Cullen answered with a small smile. “Peace and quiet.”

“Ah. That seems a rare commodity around here.”

Cullen chuckled, and didn't mention yet another illegal move Dorian had just made. “Story of my life, really. I grew up with three siblings, so silence is _definitely_ golden.”

“Maker, four children,” Dorian sighed. “I'm exhausted just thinking about it.”

“That’s where I learned to play chess, actually,” Cullen recalled. “My sister and brother and I used to play.”

“And who would _win?”_ Dorian inquired.

“Mia, usually. Until Branson and I formed an alliance to defeat her…” Then Cullen laughed, a quiet and nostalgic sound. “I remember one time, the two of them were playing, and I walked up behind Mia to watch the game. She was staring hard at the board, but didn’t realize that her bishop had Branson in checkmate.”

“She didn’t _notice?”_ Dorian laughed.

“No, she hadn’t called it! Branson knew though, and when she was trying to figure out her next move, he gave me this _‘don’t you dare’_ look, as if to say I was a dead man if I made so much as a sound.”

Dorian raised an expectant eyebrow. “Well? Did you?”

“No… that game ended in a draw anyway, on account of interference from the younger sister,” Cullen grumbled, fond and yet annoyed even now. “Rosalie came along and knocked over the board since we weren’t paying enough attention to her.”

“She was just trying to set things right after an illegal move, or twenty,” Dorian joked.

“Obviously,” Cullen concurred, turning his attention back to the present game. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No, just me. I didn’t pick up the game until I went off to the Circle.”

“Any matches of note?”

Dorian could already think of one, but wasn't sure he wanted to share. But if Cullen was alright with two of his male friends being married and making out in the rain... “Well… there was this _one_ time...” he started.

Cullen glanced up at him expectantly. “Go on…”

“Alright, this happened back a few years ago, when I was still an apprentice,” Dorian said. “I and my roommate decided to play strip chess.”

“Strip chess? I’ve heard of strip poker, but…”

“Much the same concept.”

Cullen’s ears were going a bit pink already. “So you lose a piece, you lose your shirt?”

“Not exactly. You play blitz games. Five or so minutes each,” Dorian explained. “If there’s no checkmate when time is up, then the person who lost the most pieces loses an article of clothing of the winner’s choice, and you reset the board.”

“And if there is a checkmate?”

“If you manage to checkmate in five minutes, which was rare with us amateurs, you win. As in the game is over, and you _both_ get naked, and the winner decides how things go from there.”

“I see,” Cullen said, nodding slowly, guarded but intrigued.

“So there we were on the floor in the dorm, playing strip chess. He was half naked, I was half naked…” Dorian recounted. “Then all of a sudden, the fire alarm went off.”

“Oh no!” Cullen laughed.

“So we almost jumped up, but then simultaneously realized, whichever of us was the first to leave the board, we would forfeit and lose the game.”

“Right?” Cullen pressed, leaning in to the table.

“So… we just sat there at a stand-off -- a _sit_ -off -- bickering about who should get up first. And mind you this was _not_ a drill, there was a real fire in the building somewhere. Finally I said, ‘fuck it’ and froze the pieces in place with a quick spell, and we evacuated with the board in tow, in not much more than our knickers.”

“Really?” Cullen demanded, incredulous. “The building was on _fire_ and you saved the _chessboard?_ ”

Dorian nodded, immensely pleased with himself. He'd never gotten to tell this story before. “We got the strangest looks. So we just played it up, sat there on the quad and finished our game while we waited for the fire brigade to finish putting it out.”

Cullen was practically gaping. “So you kept stripping?”

“Oh, Maker no,” Dorian answered, waving that thought away. “At that point it was mostly just a spectacle for everyone else.”

“And the two of you stripping wouldn’t have been a spectacle?”

Dorian thought about that, thought about the ‘don't you dare’ look in Rilienus’s eyes when Dorian had won, how Dorian had just winked at him and stood, and acknowledged the small applauding crowd that had gathered around them. Smiled and gave them a dramatic bow, and ignored the hurt that was twisting up inside him.

Looking back, he wasn't sure if those eyes meant ‘don't you dare embarrass me’ or ‘don't you dare break my heart.’

“He and I were not exactly open about our… _whatever_ it was, so… it was better for everyone to think it was just a very serious match we happened to be playing in our underwear.”

“Ah, I see…” Cullen, damn him, seemed to sense he'd found a sore subject. And -- bless him -- quickly moved on to something else. “I've never played strip chess.”

“You should do,” Dorian replied brightly, glad for the subject to change, and glad for the image of Cullen half naked. Even if he could also sort of appreciate the way Cullen looked in blue flannel with rolled up sleeves. “It's great fun. And challenging as well, with the format. I do like it when things are _hard.”_

A small, unimpressed shake of Cullen's head was the only indication he'd picked up on the innuendo. “Do you cheat as abysmally at strip chess as you do at regular chess?”

Dorian paused for effect, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I don't _mind_ losing in strip chess,” he said softly.

“That hardly answers the question,” Cullen teased, his voice a gravelly drawl, and Dorian imagined it was the way his voice would sound after a post-sex nap. “You froze the pieces to the board so you wouldn't forfeit… sounds to me like you're a sore loser either way.”

“Yes but sometimes, one prefers to be sore, after.”

This time Cullen snorted, shaking his head and muttering “Terrible,” under a cough that might have been trying to be a laugh.

A pang of guilt, as Dorian tried to interpret this reaction. “Perhaps that was too far,” he apologized. “I can desist, if you prefer --”

“No no, that's not -- your _puns_ are terrible,” Cullen clarified, still laughing.

This made Dorian smile wide, knowing an invitation when he saw one. “Those were double entendres, thank you very much, and should be graded on a _completely_ different scale.” Namely, at the moment, just how red they were making Cullen blush, which would get them very high marks indeed.

Once Cullen got his laughter under control, the two of them just stared for a few moments, sizing each other up, daring one another to push farther. A pair of knowing, secret smiles that neither of them seemed able or inclined to control.

After some surreptitious experimenting, Dorian had figured out that being near Cullen indeed had a strange effect on him. And not just his undeniable attraction to the man and the way his smoldering smile made Dorian's knees go a little weak. There was an odd sense of peacefulness Dorian got whenever he was near, as if the magical potential around them was muted somehow. It was strange, and Dorian thought about asking after it, but wasn’t sure he wanted the man to think him insane.

It was Cullen that broke the silence by shyly clearing his throat. “I think I might need some practice with this whole… five minutes business,” he said, quiet and suggestive in a way that made Dorian want to knock the board away, scatter the pieces and climb into Cullen’s lap. “I'm used to lasting much longer.”

Surprised, Dorian leaned in to the table, to get a better look at the dark gleam in his opponent’s eye. “I'm just delighted to learn you can play the _game,”_ he purred, and if his hand happened to brush up against Cullen's over the board, well, that was probably an accident. “And as for the _chess,_ we can if you like. After this round? Clothes on, of course.”

There was a short, suddenly self conscious chuckle from Cullen, even as he sat back in his chair, shifting his legs slightly further apart in a way that drew attention to other parts of his anatomy. “Of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian had wanted to witness the ritual for summoning creatures, he really had. But that was before he learned that it took place in a creepy graveyard on the outskirts of town, several hours before the first light of the sun appeared in the eastern sky. And that he had to sit vigil until sunrise on the cold, dirty ground.

He tried to stifle a yawn, not wanting to seem rude or disinterested to his instructor, the Dalish witch Merrill. But it had taken him two cups of coffee just to be awake enough to drag himself there.

“Alright,” he said, pen and notepad in hand. “Start from the beginning, please, and don’t skimp on the details.”

“Right,” Merrill replied in her pleasant, lilting accent. “First, we must draw a circle around the casting area, in order to cleanse the area of unwanted magic or spirits.”

Dorian jotted down notes and watched as she raised her hand to cast the spell, but then stopped and put her hands back in her lap, shaking her head. “What’s wrong?” Dorian whispered.

“The wind’s not blowin’,” she answered. “With this ritual we invoke the element of air, and we need him at his most powerful. If I cast when the wind isn’t blowin’, the spell won’t work right.”

“I see,” Dorian pondered, still taking notes. “I don’t suppose an impatient sigh would substitute.”

“Definitely not,” Merrill answered with a twinkle in her eye. “Oh, here we go,” she said as the wind picked up again and she cast a glowing yellow circle around them.

“Now, we must prepare the body for the summoned creature,” Merrill explained. A small bat sewn from felt lay out in front of her on the ground, one of Krem’s latest creations. Its stomach wasn’t sewn shut yet, fluffy white stuffing still sticking out from the black fabric. “We start with a bone from the animal it’s meant to mimic. Cruelty-free of course,” Merrill added, a bit apologetic.

“Naturally,” Dorian agreed.

Merrill produced a small bone, raising it high into the air in the palms of her two hands. “We offer the bone up towards the sky and the wind, that it might be blessed with the breath of life.”

Dorian scribbled and watched as she then stuffed the small bone inside of the bat. “Now I will need something to represent the master of the creature, usually hair or a small favored possession,” Merrill instructed. “Voraan remembered to tell you, didn’t he?” she fretted.

“He did,” Dorian reassured her. “I brought some hair clippings, will that do?” He pulled a small plastic bag from his pocket, which had just a few hairs he’d plucked from his mustache.

“Are they in there?” Merrill asked, peering hard into the bag in the dim light. There was a faint glow from the city lights beyond, but just barely enough for them to see what was right in front of them. “Oh! I see them. Alright, you may place your hairs inside the creature. This is so he will know you and be bound to you.”

“Did Amelia do all of this?” Dorian asked her, trying to imagine the small child in the middle of the graveyard at this time of night, helping to bring her goat friend to life.

“She did. And was of course accompanied by her parents. Poor thing had a hard time staying awake. It was so cute,” Merrill remembered happily.

Once that was done, Merrill instructed Dorian to breathe on the creature, and then raise it up into the wind just as she had done. It took a few minutes of waiting for the wind to blow to her liking, and Dorian wasn’t sure that he had had enough caffeine to muster up the patience required, but they got there eventually.

“Next, we prepare a circle around the body.” Merrill took a runed wooden wand and carefully drew a circle in the dirt. Then she put the wand away and pulled out a flat object that was wrapped in black silk, removing the cloth to reveal a round, reflective glass. “This is a black scrying mirror,” Merrill explained. “I will look through the mirror to find a spirit that is suitable for the creature.”

“You can see spirits in that mirror? From the other side of the Veil?”

“Oh, yes,” Merrill assured him.

“May I see that?” Dorian asked, and Merrill handed it over gingerly. As Dorian took hold of it, an old set of scars on the inside of his arm began to sting. Blood magic; Dorian recognized it instantly. “Did you… make this?” he inquired, voice wavering the tiniest bit.

“Oh no. It's made of obsidian. Some people just use glass and paint it black, or use black glass, but this was a gift from my mentor, Flemeth.”

That put him at ease. There was no point in freaking out at her about it. Still, it would figure there would be some blood magic involved. He held it up to his face. “I can't see myself in this mirror. I must be a vampire!” Dorian exclaimed dramatically.

“Oh, no, if you were a vampire you would see yourself,” Merrill answered, not missing a beat. It was impossible to tell if she was joking or not. “Living people don't show up in mirrors like this one, only things from beyond, like spirits and spectres and vampires. At least… I think a vampire would. I've never met one. I'd like to though, as long as they were nice… Sorry, I'm rambling.”

Dorian chuckled at her. “I don't mind.”

“Anyway, it's easier to see in the mirror here where the Veil is thin.”

“So _that’s_ why we’re in a graveyard.”

Merrill giggled. “Did you think I made you come all the way out here just for aesthetic reasons?” she teased him. “It’s also because there are spirits that are drawn to death that linger nearby, looking for a way to cross.”

“Yes, I had been told this magic was akin to necromancy.”

“Dead bodies are a bit gross though, aren’t they?” Merrill pointed out, wrinkling her nose. “This is much more fun. Anyway, when I give the word, quickly sprinkle salt around the summoning circle, and it will trap the spirit inside.”

Dorian made a face. “I don’t have any salt _on_ me…”

Merrill tsked at him kindly, pulling a small jar of salt out of one of her pockets. “If you want to be a proper witch, you have to have salt,” she chided.

“I shall keep that in mind,” Dorian promised, though he had no intention of being proper or a witch at all.

Merrill turned around, her back to Dorian as she lifted the mirror up, focusing on the summoning circle. Dorian tried to see what she saw, but from his angle, he couldn’t make out much of anything. He kept his salt at the ready, however, waiting her word.

Dorian took a moment to read back over his notes. Most of this was so foreign to him. Protective barriers he understood, sure, but taking the wind into account? Salt? Scrying mirrors? If this kind of magic actually worked, and he had proof that it did, then why did the Imperium Circles turn their nose up at it? Why was it thought to be inferior, just because it was so different?

“Now!” Merrill called to him, and Dorian quickly took a pinch of salt and dusted the small circle with it, and then another for good measure. Merrill set her mirror to the side and turned to face him, looking pleased.

“We have trapped the spirit,” she told him. “Now, it will look for someplace to go to escape, you see.”

“And in doing so, it will unwittingly go right into the creature?”

“That’s what we hope. We’ll have to wait for sunrise to find out. Should only be about half an hour more.”

So they waited. In the meantime, Merrill sewed up the creature’s belly and chatted up a storm, which was quite impressive for Dorian, who was used to being the one dominating the conversation. She went on at length about a fascinating theory regarding ancient elves, who supposedly took years to perform a single spell. That was always thought to mean they cast continuously, but some witches theorised it meant that they spent years preparing the tools for a ritual such as they one they were doing now.

The sky in the east soon began to lighten, and then from the ground in between them, a tiny ‘peep’ was heard from the creature.

They both looked down at it with wide eyes, as it seemed to be struggling to right itself from its current position on its back.

“Here you go, little guy,” Merrill said, and the creature peeped at her again. “Oh, he makes noise! ‘Peep!’” she mimicked. “They’ve never done that before.”

“You must be getting better at this,” Dorian said, and the bat flew off somewhere out of sight.

“Maybe so. I think that’s what you should name him.”

Dorian raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Peep?”

“Call him back to you, and see if he answers to it,” Merrill suggested, a bit smugly.

“Oh, Peep…” Dorian called half-heartedly. “Here, Peep.”

Sure enough, the bat came back to him, resting on his shoulder and peeping at him happily. Dorian reached over and scooped him into one hand.

The bat was a marvel. It moved as if it had all of the bones and anatomy of a bat, as far as Dorian could tell, even more than the way he was sewn should have allowed. But it also seemed perfectly tame, and sat quite obediently still while he was looked over.

“Well, I guess you have a name,” Dorian told the small creature. He couldn’t begrudge the creator of such a miracle her preferences. “Do you mind if I try something?” he asked her.

“Not at all.”

Dorian reached into the Fade, and cast a spell that he’d learned through his studies of necromancy, one that would strengthen the binding between the body and the spirit it contained. The spell cast true, and the bat seemed no worse for the wear.

“Huh,” Dorian said. “I can’t believe that worked.”

Merrill reached out and hovered a hand over Peep, sensing what Dorian had done. “Oh, that’s a neat trick. He is twice-bound now.”

“Twice bound?”

“Yes, he’ll be harder to banish. Can you show me how to that?” And Dorian gladly did.

“Thank you for the lesson, and the bat-friend,” he told her when his own lesson was complete. “This has been most informative.”

“Oh, you’re quite welcome,” she told him. “If you have more questions, you can come and visit me at Kirkwall any time. Or even if you don’t have questions. You can come visit anyway. If you want. I’m rambling again.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those on tumblr that helped me with figuring out everyone's drink orders :D 
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: references to Halward’s A+ parenting and gaslighting. Dorian is triggered by same and has an anxiety attack. All that happens in the first section. References to Dorian's tendencies toward alcohol abuse. There is some (responsible levels of) drinking in this chapter. And just in case... Dorian does share a perfectly friendly and platonic dance with Josephine. The dance he shares with Cullen… not platonic in the slightest.

[file: batfriend1.vid sent to Felix]  
**Dorian** : his name is Peep  
**Felix** : oh my gosh! :D :D :D  
**Dorian** : i didn’t name him, i would point out  
**Felix** : he’s adorable! i would never believe it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes

[incoming call from Halward Pavus]  
[call ignored]

[file: batfriend2.vid sent to Felix]  
**Dorian** : the magic involved is most fascinating, a mixture of necromancy and other forms of spirit binding  
**Felix** : oh maker, he hangs upside down and everything! he’s so cute!  
**Dorian** : yes a cute work of thaumaturgical genius  
**Felix:** is that the most mind-blowing thing you’ve seen there?

[incoming call from Halward Pavus]  
[call ignored]

 **Dorian** : surprisingly not  
**Dorian** : i think that prize goes to seeing a qunari invoking the old gods in his magical practice  
**Felix** : YOU’RE KIDDING  
**Dorian** : not at all. there are several witches here who do apparently. including one qunari. BECAUSE DRAGONS, he said.  
**Felix** : because dragons… what?

[incoming call from Halward Pavus]

 **Dorian** : just ‘because dragons’ full stop.  
**Dorian** : kaffas  
**Felix** : ?  
**Dorian** : halward is being rather persistent today. ttyl  
**Felix** : ok :T

 

* * *

 

“Your mother and I just don’t understand what we did to drive you to this. Please, Dorian. Just help us understand what we did wrong.”

Dorian could have thrown his phone across the room at that moment. Watched and heard it break into a dozen pieces and not felt anything at all. Instead, he just grit his teeth and doubled down on his resolve, channeling his anger into the focus required to keep his voice steady over his pounding heart.

“No. _No!”_ he repeated before his father could interrupt. “You don’t want me to tell you so you can make it right. Be _forgiven._ You want me to tell you so you can explain to me how _mistaken_ I am. How I have it all backwards, and the way I feel about it is foolish and I should just stop feeling this way!”

“Dorian…” his father said wearily. “We just want to know how to make things right between us.”

“Which translates to getting _me_ to do what _you_ want. It’s not going to happen!”

A long silence on the other end, and Dorian thanked the Heavens no one was there to see how much this conversation was taking out of him, hunched over himself on the couch and fighting his lungs for every silently burning breath. Oh, how he wished he could have Cullen and his odd calming effect here with him, now.

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, and Dorian counted a few more heartbeats throb through his limbs before his father spoke.

“My son. You are so much like me,” his father said softly, voice affection and sorrow in equal measure. “You are so proud. And that pride will be your undoing. You could achieve such great things, and all I want to do is help you. That is all I have ever wanted.”

Throat tight, Dorian swallowed hard and fought the unhelpful prickling behind his eyes. “I think I’m doing quite well on my own, thanks.”

His father chuckled sadly. “That would be the pride talking. You’ve absconded to Ferelden, to live with a bunch of half-baked hedge mages? They couldn’t hold a candle to you, Dorian. Are you so intent on being a big fish in a little pond?”

Dorian just shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak, then. Couldn’t risk Halward hearing the weakness in his voice, just for the purpose of telling him he was wrong.

What was the point in telling him he was wrong? He’d already made up his mind, because he’d rather trust the word of a crusty, old magister than his own son.

“You must see how foolish this is… you’re wasting valuable time.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Dorian said evenly, “the only waste of my time, is this conversation. Goodbye, father.”

Then Dorian ended the call and tossed his phone to the other end of the couch.

 

Not more than a minute could have passed; Dorian was still slowly dragging his face through his hands when there was a sudden knock at the door. His heart pounded even louder as if to be heard over the noise.

He took a steadying breath, and then another, before he called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Cullen.”

Despite his wishes a few moments prior, Dorian did not want Cullen of all people to see him in such a state. But it took all of a second for Dorian to determine he had no strength left to push anyone else away. He slowly peeled himself off the couch and made his way over to open the door.

In the harsh morning light, Cullen looked like a man who was trying very hard to look casual. Lopsided smirk, hands in his pockets, all of it said, _casual._ Screamed it, really. “Hey,” he said, casually.

“Hey?” Dorian answered, not buying any of it at all. He let Cullen in anyway. No point in making him stand outside after literally wishing he was there.

“I just um… came to check on you. See how you were doing?” Cullen tried.

Might as well put the man out of his misery. “Maker, it must be bad if _you’re_ coming after me, instead of our resident empath,” Dorian half-joked.

Cullen winced at that. “Actually, he sent me,” he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“He did?”

“Yeah. He um… didn’t tell me why exactly. Just… ‘Go check on Dorian. Make sure he’s okay.’ So here I am.”

Dorian used the time it took to wander over to the bed to figure out how to answer that. He collapsed onto it, legs hanging over the side as he fixed his eyes on the floor. Milo must have felt his longing somehow. How un-fucking-settling that was, and Dorian knew he should be grateful, but all he could manage at the moment was a rather dull petulance.

He'd been silent too long. Cullen came over and sat next to him on the bed, close so they were shoulder to shoulder, and then he was putting his arm around Dorian, a large hand coming to rest on his back. He was warm and solid and Dorian wanted so badly to lean into him, but when had he ever trusted something and had it keep being real?

“Is this okay?” Cullen asked, barely more than a whisper, and Dorian had to think about it, legitimately _think_ about whether he could handle it on top of everything else. It felt so nice but he was already overthinking it: he didn’t know what to do, how to act, and that was one more burden he didn’t need… but it felt too good for him to want it to stop. The touch put him at ease enough that it became manageable to put his anger into words.

“I _may_ have forgotten to mention to my parents that I was leaving the country,” Dorian explained.

He heard a slightly amused rush of air from Cullen’s nose. “That’s a pretty significant thing to forget.”

“I may have forgotten on purpose.”

“Hmm,” Cullen replied, thoughtful but not passing judgement. His hand shifted a bit over Dorian’s shoulder blade, soothing and subtle and soft. “They figured it out?”

“Yes. And they’re not happy. They think I’ve run off to join some kind of _cult_ or something _.”_

With a tiny flutter of wings, his new bat-friend flew over to join them, perching on Dorian’s shoulder, holding on by the tiny claws on the ends of his wings. Peep rubbed his face against Dorian’s neck as if to soothe him, and let out a little pleading squeak. With a wan smile, Dorian reached up to stroke him and convey his gratitude.

“Are they making you go home?”

Dorian snorted bitterly. “They would if they could. I have no intention of going anywhere until I’ve finished my research.”

“If they come for you, we’ll protect you,” Cullen promised. “If it comes to that. You’re safe here with us... you know that, right?”

Dorian took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He wanted to believe that. He’d just stood up against his father for these people, the least they could do is the same. But if his own father could betray him so utterly, surely anyone could.

“Is there anything I can do to -- help you feel better?” Cullen offered, stammering a little.

“I could use a drink.”

“It’s… a bit early for that, don’t you think?”

“Never stopped me before.” Dorian managed to make it sound like a joke, though it really wasn’t. He should know by now he couldn’t empty himself of his hurt by emptying a bottle or two, but it always managed to look like an attractive option at moments like this.

“I wish I knew how to help,” Cullen said earnestly. “But I only know how it goes down when _I’m_ having a bad day.”

Dorian shrugged. “I’m certainly open to suggestions.”

“Well, Josephine is the one that gets sent to check up on me,” Cullen told him wryly. “And usually she steals me away for some kind of outing in the city.”

Dorian perked up a little. “That… sounds like fun, actually,” he admitted.

Cullen seemed to perk up a little, too, like a dog that’s just seen a scrap fall under the table. “I could text her,” he suggested. “Arrange something for tonight.”

Dorian turned to look at him, raising a brow. “She wouldn’t mind?”

Cullen was smiling big as he shook his head. “I know she wouldn’t. She’ll take any excuse to go out on the town.”

“And… you don’t mind?” Dorian ventured.

Cullen’s strong hand squeezed at his shoulder as he tilted his head, as if worried that Dorian even had to ask. “I _want_ to. I like you, and I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Dorian studied the man closely. That… sounded scarily close to some kind of confession, which Dorian was in too much of a state to process. Cullen sounded sincere, looked even more sincere. Still, Dorian found himself wishing he was the one with empathic abilities. “Alright,” he acquiesced, as if it was such a burden to be dragged out for a night on the town. Inwardly he was looking forward to it, even if he didn’t really know what Fereldan witch night life entailed.

“Okay, I’ll text her,” Cullen said, pulling out his phone. “Whatever it is we end up doing, I just know you’ll want to wear the most comfortable shoes you own.”

Then the message was off, and the two of them sat there, just looking at each other for a few moments before Cullen’s phone buzzed with the awaited reply. The blond looked up at Dorian with the most mischievous grin on his face.

“We leave at sunset.”

 

* * *

 

At sunset, Dorian stood on the sidewalk outside the shop. Eyes hidden by the hood of a grey sweatshirt, Leliana held out a pale hand to him, and he raised a curious eyebrow at what he found in her palm: a blue M&M.

“For a happy journey,” she explained, and so Dorian picked it up carefully and popped it in his mouth. Then she grabbed his shoulders and met his eyes with a serious gaze that seemed to look into his soul. “Don’t look back,” she told him, and that seemed to be the end of her strange sacrament, for as Dorian watched, she repeated the ritual with Cullen and Josephine. And then they were off, making their way to the underground train station a few blocks away.

“What does she mean by that?” Dorian asked Cullen quietly. “‘Don’t look back.’”

“Two things, I suppose,” Cullen muttered. Up ahead the two girls were already giggling, their excitement bubbling up in the air. “One, that whatever happens tonight, you shouldn’t have any regrets. And also, it’s an approach to spellcasting. You have to have confidence in your powers. So you just cast and don’t look back. Don’t doubt yourself so much that you check to see if it worked. Know that it did, and it will have.”

“Huh,” Dorian replied. “So we’re going to be doing magic tonight?”

“Watch, you’ll see,” Cullen said with that smirk of his that knew too much.

 

And see Dorian did. Before they even got onto the train, Josephine and Leliana were already well on their way to a magical evening. Dorian wasn’t sure if there was any sort of organization to their casting, and he was too captivated to ask. Josephine took out one of the red roses that were pinned into her hair and began pulling and dropping the petals one by one on the sidewalk, “to pave the way for love,” she said.  Leliana bought an extra ticket for the tube and left it on top of the the entry gate. At the platform, Josephine decided which train doors they should enter by looking at the car through a runed compact mirror she pulled out of her purse.

On the train, they let the girls have two empty seats while he and Cullen stood in the aisle. “So where are we going?” Dorian asked, finally.

“Where the train goes,” Josephine answered cryptically, and the shrug Cullen gave him told Dorian he wouldn’t get much more of an answer than that.

“We’ll tell you if you really want to know,” Leliana said as she put on a pair of sunglasses. “But if you’re left to wonder, you'll be distracted from other things.”

Surprisingly, that made sense to Dorian, and tilted his head in acquiescence. “I suppose I can handle that,” he decided.

A minute of silence passed between the four of them. Dorian took a deep breath and concentrated on Cullen’s calming presence, and staying balanced so the rocking of the train couldn’t push him over, grounded in both body and mind.

“Cullen,” Leliana said, and both the boys looked over at her. She pulled the sunglasses down just far enough so they could see her cool blue eyes and then gestured with them up at the ceiling, where a fluorescent light was flickering like mad.

“Hmm,” Cullen agreed, and regarded the light, studying it as he let go of the bar above him and stood without support in the middle of the car. He suddenly had a very unwelcoming expression on his face as he held one hand up and pointed at the light, like he was calling it out and challenging it to a duel.

The light made an angry buzzing sound and flickered even more for a moment, the whole section of the car going dark, but Cullen didn’t waver, just splayed his fingers wide and stood his ground. Then the light came back on, and didn’t make a single subsequent protest, aural or visual or otherwise.

Cullen was too busy being pleased with himself to notice the lurch to the left the car was taking, so he fell into Dorian, who caught him and helped him get upright again. “Sorry,” Cullen laughed, his hand on Dorian’s chest lingering just a hare too long.

Dorian shook his head to show it was no big deal. “What was that about?”

“Oh,” Cullen replied, sheepish about it now. “A demon.”

“In the light fixture?” Dorian prodded.

“Yeah,” Cullen answered, and Leliana put her sunglasses away, and that was that.

 

Back on the street, Cullen and Dorian hung back and watched more of the girls’ antics. Josephine was mostly occupied taking pictures of random things she liked and texting people, but Leliana was a whirlwind of activity, fluttering from magical moment to magical moment, leaving beautiful chaos in her wake.

If she wasn’t anointing the ground with pinches of flower seeds she pulled out of her bag, she was belting out snippets of lyrics from pop songs, her ethereal voice full of hope and victory and life, which Dorian soon figured out were meant as spells as well. If she wasn’t casting, she was teasing Josephine about whatever she was doing on her phone, which Josie pouted about, but huddled up with her to share anyway.

And when she wasn’t doing that, she was paying attention. More than once she seemed to pick out a stranger that passed them on the sidewalk, her steely gaze following them until she was walking backwards to keep them in her sights. She would point at them, say “may your dark deeds rain back down on you tenfold,” and then turn around.

“How does she know?” Dorian asked Cullen. “Or is she just picking people at random?”

“I seriously doubt that,” Cullen said quietly. “Leliana is very astute. She’s better at reading people than Milo. Especially when they have malicious intentions.”

“Oh great, another empath?” Dorian griped, though he was half-joking.

But Cullen fixed him with a dark look. “Trust me, it’s no walk in the park, being an empath, any of them will tell you,” he said. “And becoming one…”

“What?” Dorian asked, confused. “How do you become one?”

Cullen wandered closer to him, shoulders touching as his voice dropped to barely more than a grumble. “Witches only become empaths if they lose their spouse.”

“Oh,” Dorian breathed, a spike of sympathy shooting through him. But if Leliana felt that, she didn’t let it show.

 

For a light meal, they stopped at a food truck they found on the way to wherever they were going. Tevinter kebabs -- or rather some bastardization of Tevinter kebabs -- were the specialty of this particular operation, and Dorian was glad for the attempt, at least, to give him a tiny slice of home.

Josephine roped Cullen into taking some selfies with her and their kebabs, so that left Dorian standing off to the side with Leliana. The redhead watched him curiously, while he watched the other two goof around and laugh, trying to focus on that instead of Leliana’s intimidating gaze.

“You’re quite powerful,” Leliana noted casually, getting his attention.

“Thank you?” he said, not sure how to respond. Was that a compliment? A challenge? A complaint?

“Yet your power does not _empower_ you,” Leliana continued, looking like she was working out a puzzle she saw in Dorian’s head. “You are not rooted in what you have, because you’re constantly reaching for more.”

Brows stitching together, Dorian just stared at her, unsettled as always by these witches’ strange abilities. He knew there was no point in protesting; he instantly recognized the truth for what it was, and found himself wanting to hear more.

“Your aura stretches out, always reaching, straining. For knowledge, sometimes for people…” she said, cutting her eyes towards where Josephine was trying to convince a quite resolute Cullen to let her post their pictures on her Twitter. “You should try to be more grounded in your own power,” Leliana concluded. “Otherwise you may stretch your energy too thin.”

“How exactly do you suggest I do that?” Dorian inquired.

Leliana shrugged slightly. “You have to find something that makes you feel in tune with your own energy,” she answered. “Revel in it every once in a while. Just meditate on it and feel it coursing through your veins. Let it give you courage.”

“I seem like I need courage, do I?”

Leliana only answered with a knowing smile.

“Oh! Oh!” Josephine exclaimed, shuffling in her flats over to something she had noticed on the ground. She pulled some kind of flower out of a crack in the sidewalk, and then looking between her companions, honed in on Dorian. Frilly skirt fluttering over her colorful tights, she rushed over to present it to him. “Make a wish!”

Dorian looked at the fragile little sphere, made up of tufts of something that looked more like spiderwebs than petals. “What?”

“It’s a dandelion. Wish for something, then blow,” Josephine repeated, then gave him a warning look as she realized what she’d said. “Don't make a dirty joke. If you make a dirty joke your wish won't come true.”

Dorian laughed at her. “Those are the rules, are they?”

“Yes,” she declared with a stern sort of cuteness which warmed Dorian’s heart.

He pondered for a second. “Do I have to tell you what it is?”

“No.”

He wracked his brain for something, but found himself coming up short at being put on the spot. “Can I think about it?”

Josephine bowed her head and handed the flower to him in a grand gesture. “At your leisure,” she told him.

As they continued on their way, Dorian finally thought of something, and sent the little seedlets flying in a flurry around him. He wished for many more moments like this one, moments where he didn’t want for anything at all.

 

* * *

 

If the amusing journey hadn’t helped Dorian completely forget about the fight with his father, the club certainly would have done the trick. From the moment they got in the door, his senses were inundated with distractions, but the only thought he had to distract himself from was how long it had been since he'd been in a place like this.

His wilder days in Minrathous seemed a lifetime away, and yet he might as well have been back there for a moment. Clubs had enough similarities after all, dizzying lights, a throng of people, the bittersweet aromas of courage and exertion in their liquid forms. Or less poetically put, sweat and booze.

With Cullen behind him, one hand on his shoulder, Dorian trailed behind the two girls up to the bar, where one of the bartenders seemed to recognize them. A slender woman with warm brown skin and closely shorn hair the girls addressed as Vivienne.

“Dreams,” Leliana said simply, and was served a variation of a Bloody Celene with beer instead of vodka, complete with tomato juice and a variety of herbs.

“Joy,” Josephine requested, and Vivienne made her a concoction with bourbon, mint and grapefruit.

Cullen was next, and ordered “Love,” which turned out to just be a whiskey sour with orange and cherry garnishes.

When it was finally Dorian's turn, he leaned in to be heard over the crowd, turning on the charm to mask his uncertainty on how to order. “I'm not sure what you call it here, but I'd like an Orlesian Seventy-Five.”

Vivienne raised an amused eyebrow at him. “An interesting choice,” she commented. “Cognac or gin?”

“Cognac please,” Dorian answered, and she nodded sagely as she went to work.

He pulled out his wallet, flipping through Fereldan bills, but Cullen put a hand over it, shaking his head when Dorian looked up. “She's a Coven member; we get one drink free,” he said into Dorian's ear.

“Well that's a fine perk,” Dorian laughed. “A bartender witch?”

“Yeah,” Cullen said, and ducked his head as he took a sip of his drink.

“That might be my favorite kind!” Dorian decided with a beaming smile, and then watched with interest as Vivienne finished up the spell that apparently was his drink, topping it off with fizzy champagne.

“Here you are, my dear. Temptation,” she finally announced as she handed him the glass.

Dorian's brows rose up in surprise. It was like getting his tarot read all over again. “Temptation?! And what if I had gotten the gin?”

The bartender thought for a moment. “That would be Lust,” she decided.

Cullen was nodding as if that made sense to him somehow, but when Dorian tried to ask more questions, he quickly intervened. “Oh no. You're not here to do homework, you're here to have _fun,”_ he reminded him, pulling the protesting Dorian away from the bar, and then they were off to try and find a table.

Another wandering journey through the crowd, bumping shoulders with strangers, and Dorian could feel eyes on him now, leering appreciatively in a way that he was practiced at ignoring. A boost to his ego for sure, but going home with some Fereldan stranger wasn’t on his agenda for the night.

This close to the dance floor, the beat of the music took up residence in Dorian’s bones, pulsing under his ribs like a second heart. It was infectious; it made him want to move so badly that just standing there sipping a drink became a daunting task.

Luckily, Josephine was quick to come to his rescue.

“Dance with me?” she asked, leaning close and shouting to be heard over the music and the cheering throng.

“Of course,” he replied, taking one last sip before setting his drink on the table where Leliana and Cullen had made themselves comfortable. He followed Josephine out to the floor, a sea of people under the flashing choreographed lights and the illusion of a sky of twinkling stars.

It took Dorian moment to get into the rhythm of the music, the kind of pure, optimistic tune that had the strange ability to make a person forget they’d ever been unhappy. But soon he and Josephine managed to coordinate, establishing a push and pull motion on alternating beats. A dance that did justice to the sensuality of the music without requiring any sensual touching.

Josephine seemed to understand; he certainly didn’t mind a friendly dance with a girl but was entirely disinterested in trying anything further, and touching sometimes… confused things. Still, they were having fun, and that was what mattered.

She even kept up with him when he added some rather complex footwork, and as often happens when people sense you know what you’re doing, people started giving them a little bit of space. When the music slowed, the beat fading neatly away, Dorian took Josephine’s hand and twirled her, to her delight, before continuing the dance with their hands joined in between them.

By the end of the song, though, they were both approaching the extent of their ability to improvise, stumbling over each other and laughing a bit as the mood changed to something a bit more mellow.

Josephine placed one hand up on his shoulder, as they fell back on a more traditional form of dance, two hands clasped, one of Dorian’s politely resting on her waist. “You like Cullen, don’t you?” she accused with glee in her eyes.

Dorian closed his eyes to keep from rolling them. “My dear Josephine,” he sighed, pretending to be exasperated with her, as if he were capable of such a thing on such a night. “You haven’t had _nearly_ enough to drink to be such a gossip.”

The hand on his shoulder lifted up to smack him lightly as she pouted at him. “Don’t dodge the question!” she chided, and then her face brightened with an idea that had her practically bouncing on her toes. “You should ask him to dance.”

Dorian gave her a doubtful look. “He doesn’t really strike me as the dancing type.”

“He’ll dance with _you.”_

“How do you know?”

She answered that with an _oh please_ kind of glare. “Neither of you are very subtle, you know.” Then Josephine saw something over his shoulder and gasped, eyes going wide, and the next thing Dorian knew she was huddled up against him, trying to hide behind him by making herself as small as possible.

“What, what is it?” he demanded, alarmed. Maker help him if he was going to have to fight some jealous ex of Josephine’s.

“Isabela is here,” she explained, looking frightened and adorable all at once.

Dorian frowned. “Isabela, the tarot witch?” he asked, to which Josephine nodded shakily. “Is that a bad thing?”

She took a moment to answer. “Not really. I… told her we were here,” she explained. “And now _she's_ here.”

Ah. Dorian began to see through the strobe lights that the look on her face wasn’t fear, but rather shyness. A grin spread over his face. Apparently he wasn’t the only one with a crush. “So go talk to her.”

He heard, or rather felt, a small whimper come from her, as she continued to almost cling to him. He just laughed at her and grabbed her shoulders.  “I’ve met her, she’s not that intimidating, surely.”

Another cute whimper. “I know, but she’s… _Isabela.”_

Dorian silently conceded that point. “Here, I’ll make you a deal,” he offered. “I’ll go ask Cullen to dance, if you go talk to Isabela and ask her to dance. That sound like a fair bargain?”

Josephine welcomed this idea with an excited gasp. “Oh! Yes! I’m so glad you’re going to ask him!” she said, losing her balance a bit in her excitement.

“Alright, alright, go lean on Isabela,” he told her, waving his hand dismissively. “Off with you.”

While she went off in one direction, Dorian wandered back to their booth, where Cullen was standing, a disapproving look on his face as he watched a man nearby make a quite vulgar gesture with a beer bottle at a young woman. “Care to dance?” Dorian inquired once he drew Cullen’s attention away.

The blond looked a bit daunted. “I… I’m not very good at dancing.”

Well, that wasn’t a no. There were several lines he could fall back upon in such a situation, some more pushy than others, and he didn’t want to put the man off if he was just making an excuse. “These things only get better with practice, you know.”

For that, he was rewarded with a warm smile. “I suppose you’re right. Alright, let’s go.”

After draining the rest of his drink and mentally patting himself on the back for that one, Dorian led Cullen to the floor with a hand on his back, in mirror of the reassuring touches the other man had offered him earlier in the day. The music was more primal sounding now, driven by an inevitable but sonorous beat. It practically screamed at Dorian to move, as the two of them faced each other and got off to a tentative start.

Cullen didn’t do much more than bob his head at first, looking entirely too self-conscious, entirely too aware of his own skin. Dorian took the lead, by not doing much more than just exerting his presence, and gently set them into an easy back and forth motion.

Cullen followed his direction, willingly if a little stiffly, still unsure what to do with his eyes or with his hands, or any of himself. Caught between not wanting to push and not wanting to watch the man flounder, Dorian allowed this for a while before finally having mercy on him.

“Here,” he said kindly, stepping closer, and holding his hands out for Cullen’s hands. Once Cullen complied he set them firmly on his hips, before putting his own hands on Cullen’s shoulders. He made his voice as inviting as he could make it and be heard over the raucous crowd. “Move with me.”

Cullen looked at him, a bit mesmerized, as Dorian began swaying again, using the connections made by their hands to show Cullen where he wanted him. It took the blond a moment, but he eventually fell into it, looking a bit surprised at himself as he did.

“There you go!” Dorian encouraged. “You’re doing well!”

Cullen was probably blushing, but that was a secret that the laserbeam lights would never tell. “I -- I doubt I’m ready for that fancy footwork you were doing with Josie.”

“Watching us, were you?” Dorian noted, causing Cullen to look even more bashful. How very interesting, Dorian thought with a wicked smile.

His dance partner was getting unsure again under the teasing, and so Dorian took the risk of moving his hands up to Cullen’s neck, just barely brushing his fingers into those curly locks as he regained the man’s attention.

At the skin-to-skin contact, though, Dorian startled as a feeling rushed into him, bright and soaring like one of those laser lights was beaming right into him and flooding his soul. Suddenly it was an effort to speak. “Look at me,” he told Cullen, though he barely heard his own voice for the noise around them and the way his endorphins were singing in his ears.

Cullen did look at him, still seeming a bit worried but his grip tightened on Dorian’s hips.

“Don’t think,” Dorian instructed, shaking his head. “Just move.”

And so they moved. Now that they’d found their rhythm, the energy between them began to build, the two of them focused on each other so intensely that everything else began to fade away. Damn it was good, watching those honey-brown eyes look at him with such wanting, to see Cullen lick his lips as he, perhaps unconsciously, studied Dorian’s mouth.

Kissing him might have been overplaying his hand, but Dorian wanted to take it further, knew the momentum was swelling too much not to take a chance.

He dropped one hand down to pull Cullen’s hand from his hip, and before Cullen could get any ideas, lifted his arm to spin the blond around to face away from him. Gently, he pressed himself against Cullen’s solid frame, and bracketed the man’s waist in his hands.

To his delight, Cullen leaned back into him, letting Dorian move them both with slow, figure-eight rotations of their hips. Cullen was the perfect height for this, maybe about dead even with him if it wasn’t for Dorian’s hair. They fit perfectly together, grinding sensually as the beat drove into them and demanded that they move as one.

With Cullen’s easy pliance, Dorian got bolder, moving one hand down to the other man’s hip -- maybe a bit lower than his hip. And let his other hand slide around, fingers gently spreading over Cullen’s stomach. The blond continued to move against him, leaning into him, surrendering to the all-consuming beat at last, and it sent a shock through Dorian's stomach, a flash of lightning at the thrilling and terrifying notion that this thing between them could be real.

Cullen said something that Dorian didn’t catch, so he pressed his cheek in close to his partner’s face. “Hmm?”

“I don’t know what to do with my hands now,” Cullen laughed nervously, balling them into awkward fists.

Dorian smiled. “Do you like where I have my hands?” he asked, to which Cullen looked back and gave him an earnest nod. “Then put yours on top of mine.”

Cullen did so, threading his fingers with Dorian and squeezing tight, and Dorian almost groaned at the sensation. It made something come alive inside him, that same laser-beam brightness from before, and he thought for a moment he could dance like this forever. Just lose himself in Cullen, melting into the places where their bodies met. Sure, it was sexual, but he was heading toward a different kind of climax, one he really didn’t understand, a perfect high like pure cane sugar was flowing through his veins, buzzing under his skin, and Dorian just held on tight to Cullen, lest otherwise he float away into the stars.

 

* * *

 

To no one’s surprise or dismay, Josephine went home with Isabela. Leliana also cited some cool and mysterious thing she had to go do, thought Dorian half suspected she was just trying to make sure Dorian and Cullen could head back to Haven alone. They called for a car, and made it back to the front door of the shop about one the following morning.

“Did you have fun?” Cullen asked as he fumbled with his keys and finally managed to lock the door behind them.

“I think I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.”

Cullen smiled at him, contently quiet. “Our dance was… really nice.”

“It was,” Dorian agreed.

Cullen cleared his throat then, as if pulling himself out of the trance of the evening. “Good. I’m glad you're feeling better, then. What I like about going out with those two, is they don’t pay too much attention to me. They don't make it about _me_. They just do their own thing for the most part, and only check in often enough to keep me out of my head or make sure I'm okay.”

Dorian was curious about what it was that would cause such interventions to be a habit, but decided not to pry. Cullen had earned much more than that courtesy by being there for him without much question. “Are they your closest friends here?”

“My closest female friends, yeah,” Cullen nodded. “Milo and Rylen are my closest guy friends.”

Dorian tilted his head. “I don’t think I’ve met Rylen.”

“You might tomorrow,” Cullen told him. “He’s in the Coast Guard, but he’s on leave starting tomorrow, so he should be around. He's a great guy, he and I go way back.”

“I look forward to meeting him, then.”

A beat of awkward silence passed by, and then Dorian tried and failed to suppress a yawn, the excitement of the evening finally starting to catch up to him, even if there was a part of him that was still coasting on that high. His body might have needed rest, but his spirit was ready to party until dawn. “Pardon me,” he said on the tail end of it.

Cullen snorted. “Yes. Heaven forbid anyone ever see you being less than perfectly together,” he teased.

“What are you trying to say?” Dorian pouted.

“I'm saying… “ Cullen gazed at him for a moment, eyes warm with affection. “I like seeing this side of you.”

Dorian squinted at him, “The slightly drunk… exhausted beyond comprehension side?”

“It's cute,” Cullen insisted, almost giggling.

It was Dorian's turn to snort. “You must be deliriously exhausted too, then.”

“Yeah,” Cullen said, though it sound more like giving up instead of agreement. “I guess we better head up, huh?”

“Probably,” Dorian agreed, and they headed out into the courtyard.

It took a moment for Dorian to notice, but there was something eerily silent about the garden that night. It pricked at the back of his mind, hairs standing on end even before he smelled something dark and metallic in the air, even before the scars on his arm began to throb in warning.

“I was um… wondering… if maybe you would like to do something like this again sometime?” Cullen was saying. “Except just the two of us?”

“Cullen, wait a minute,” Dorian interrupted, his senses on high alert for trouble.

“Oh, um, well… I understand if you don’t --”

“No, _Cullen_. Something isn’t right here,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?” Cullen pleaded, sounding hurt.

“I mean, I think someone’s been doing blood magic in the garden,” Dorian answered through gritted teeth.

“Oh… _shit,”_ Cullen hissed, as if realizing something.

“What?”

“The windchimes,” Cullen whispered, looking around.

That’s when Dorian noticed it too. The windchimes weren’t making any sound, for the first time since he’d stepped foot in the place. He’d had to learn to sleep with them going. Though the sound was pleasant enough, it was constant enough to occasionally grate on his nerves. But now, nothing.

He was pondering over this odd development, when he noticed something quietly stalking in the garden. Placidly pacing, in a way that made his veins turn to ice. It was naked, and misshapen, too tall to be a human, and too slender to be a qunari, and that was when he grabbed Cullen’s hand and ran.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: allusions to Halward's Blood Magic Ritual (in this AU it actually happened, but was not successful obviously and Dorian is confronted with his memories), internalized homophobia.

 

> A spell to protect a person from demons, by M.T.
> 
> bathe, preferably in running water, with soap made from crystal grace blossoms or another protective herb  
>  dress in black spellrobes if available, or at least a black cloak  
>  draw the sigil shown below on a piece of paper  
>  burn the paper in a fireproof bowl  
>  mix the resulting ashes with a few drops of olive oil and draw the same sigil on your forehead with a small brush using the mixture  
>  (remember to paint it backwards since you're looking in a mirror)
> 
> alternative substances for sigil application:  
>  mud  
>  water soluble paint  
>  black eyeliner
> 
> a black hat may also be worn for further protection, or if drawing a sigil is not convenient
> 
> (Dorian's notes: doesn’t seem very practical if one is already in the middle of a fight with a demon)
> 
>  

 

* * *

 

Once they were on the other side of the door, Dorian shut it carefully, an intense gesture of a finger over his lips directed at Cullen. The blond was giving him a bewildered look, to which Dorian whispered, “There’s a demon out there.”

“What?” Cullen rasped. “Let me see --”

“Careful. It doesn’t seem to know we’re here, thank the Maker,” Dorian muttered.

Cullen peered through the glass, eyes darting back and forth for a moment, before he spun around away from the door, wide eyed with a hand clapped over his mouth. Dorian put both hands on Cullen’s shoulders, half to steady the man and half to steady himself.

“What is that thing?” Cullen hissed behind his hand.

“It’s a _demon,”_ Dorian repeated in a low voice.

“Okay, but what’s it _doing_ in our --”

Then Cullen’s phone buzzed loudly, cutting through the silence, and both of them jumped about a foot into the air. Shaking visibly, Cullen yanked it out of his pocket, and stared at the screen as if the name didn’t want to sink in. “It’s Milo,” he told Dorian before accepting the call.

Of course it was, Dorian thought with a strange sort of relief. How exhausting it must be for the man to constantly be disturbed by other people's’ crises. Especially in the middle of the night.

“Hey,” Cullen said softly. “Yeah, we’re downstairs. No, there’s something -- Milo, there’s something out there.” Cullen was gasping for both words and air. “Dorian thinks it’s some kind of … demon?”

A beat of silence, in which Dorian began to get restless. All the excitement from the club was slamming back into him, and he needed to act. They needed to act _now._ “Can they come help us fight it?” he pressed.

Cullen gave him a frustrated look, but it seemed more directed at the person on the other end of the line. “Whatever it is, it was scary enough for us that it woke you up,” he argued. “We can figure out what it is later, can you just come down here and help us take care of it? Okay… okay, yeah.” Then he looked to Dorian. “There’s some staves and swords in the shop.”

Dorian rushed back there, knowing immediately which one he’d pick. There was a particular staff he’d set his eye on several times as he browsed on occasion. It was not much more than a branch, really, sanded down to be smooth in the caster’s hand and then empowered with a series of charred runes that went in circles around it. He grabbed it from the display, feeling the surge of power within.

Cullen was also grabbing a sword from inside a glass case, still whispering quietly with Milo on the phone. It seemed they were formulating some kind of plan, which Cullen briefed him on as the two of them regrouped.

“They’re making their way down here,” he whispered. “Milo and I will go in at the same time and try to catch it by surprise. Hopefully one of us will manage.”

“Tell them to remember it will do everything it can to fuck with your mind and keep you from fighting effectively.”

“Did you hear that?” Cullen asked into the phone, then nodded to Dorian in the affirmative. “Alright they’re almost down the stairs, let’s go.”

Dorian followed behind him, his fear making his steps unsteady like an earthquake beneath his feet. Cullen silently opened the door again, and they crept out into the shadows of the courtyard.

Everything was deadly still. Cullen still had the phone up to his ear, sword angled out in front of him in a somewhat competent-looking defensive stance. When he whispered “I see it!” Dorian looked over to see the creature still ambling through the garden. Then it stopped and turned its head, its featureless face looking right at Dorian with a curious tilt of its head. It made his stomach go into freefall inside his guts, an elevator snapped from its cables and plummeting into the dark.

“Gotta go,” Cullen said to the phone, shoving it in his pocket as he charged at the demon. “Hey!” he called, trying to get the thing’s attention, and the demon growled at him, a sound like an old wooden door creaking on its hinges, a door that would reveal nothing but a dark abyss full of cobwebs.

It was getting to him already. Dorian fought to push those images out of his mind, and channel his fear into a helpful direction, namely a potent spell of death.

The magic ripped away from him as he aimed it at the beast, scraping out of his mana pool with all the gracefulness of velcro. He was perhaps a bit rusty with the death magic, but it wasn’t like he often found himself with a need to _kill_ something, after all.

The demon shrieked as Dorian’s spell hit it, though it seemed to be more a cry of fury than of pain. He pointed his new weapon at it, runes beginning to glow as he focused his power through it and beyond in small bolts of dark energy.

One. Two. Three missiles hit their mark, and then Dorian saw Milo creeping up on the beast unsteadily from the other direction. Dorian decided to let up, lest he hit the approaching man by accident.

Before Milo could get a swing in, however, the demon plunged into the ground, disappearing into a pool of vile green magic. The three of them were caught unaware, and then the next thing Dorian knew, he was on his back and in a great deal of pain, the skeletally thin creature towering above him with that same grinding roar.

Dorian tried to back away, lifting up on his hands and feet but hindered by the death grip he had on his only weapon. Then a pulse of magic overwhelmed his senses, a sludgy, saturated taste like too much coffee grounds and not enough water.

He was overtaken.

 _It would be easier this way,_ said a whisper in his head, an echo of an echo from long ago.

“No.” Dorian fought to push it away, voice trembling.

_It would be so much easier to impress your father._

“No. NO.” But the voice became louder and louder, until Dorian was back there, reliving his last close encounter with a denizen of the Fade. The worst day of his life.

_He would be so proud of you._

“Shut up!”

_It would be so much easier to chase after your ambitions. Your desires. To be free to love whoever you wanted, without fear of them being hurt --_

“Fuck you!” He barked hoarsely. The old scars were stinging, flooding his arm with pain like they had been reopened. Maybe they had. Maybe he had never really escaped at all. Maybe he was still strapped to the table in the basement, and everything that had happened since was just some fever dream that was about to be ripped away.

_So strong. So powerful. You’ve been fighting for so long. Aren’t you tired of fighting?_

“Nngh --”

_You will give in to me eventually, Dorian. You will give in. It’s only logical. This is the only thing standing in the way of everything you want._

_“Please_ don’t,” Dorian begged, as desperate tears began to well in his eyes. “Please don’t do this.”

A loud crack of lightning brought Dorian out of it, and he pushed himself to sitting on the ground as if waking from a nightmare, gasping for air. The demon wailed and turned its attention to its new attacker, and Voraan volleyed several more bolts of magic at the beast as it gained on him, giving Dorian the time to scramble to his feet.

“Dorian!” Cullen called as he jogged up to help him regain his balance. “Are you alright?”

“Just peachy,” Dorian said, though he knew he sounded harried. His heart was pounding and his mind was a blur, though it had been a while since his last drink. “Let’s put this thing out of its misery, shall we?”

Cullen rushed over to where Voraan was now blocking the demon’s attacks with its staff, flinching badly so his eyes scrunched shut with every blow. Cullen managed to strike the thing from behind, leaving a long vertical slice in the thing’s back, but then it was disappearing into the ground again and knocking Milo in the dirt this time.

Terror. Dorian had a name for it now, no mistaking the dread the demon had put in Milo’s eyes. No telling what nightmare he was currently lost in. How could they possibly defend themselves against such a creature?

_Courage._

Dorian remembered Leliana’s words from earlier in the night.

_Revel in it. Ground yourself in it._

And suddenly, he knew what to do.

His allies were still fighting, Cullen racing to Milo’s side to assist, but Dorian tuned all that out for a moment, resting so he could just feel the hum of power beneath his skin. Dormant energy roiling under the surface, a scalding volcano waiting to be born.

Then he let that energy boil over, directing it as another death spell that scraped at his soul on the way out from his fingertips. It hit the demon with meteor-like force, stunning it for a second before it screamed and disappeared once more.

This time when the demon reappeared and tried to knock him over, Dorian didn’t budge. The wave after wave of fear magic registered as barely more than a tickle, a polite, but rather uncalled-for suggestion that he was more like his father than would really be preferable. Dorian drew his energy up again, and drove the point of his staff into the creature’s heart, and sent a surge of magic into it that had it ripping apart from the inside.

Then nothing but quiet. Dorian panted into the silence, getting the distinct feeling that he had really overexerted himself. It was worth it to be that singularly impressive, but he probably needed to sit down.

“All clear,” he heard Milo call in a strained voice.

“What was _that?”_ Voraan asked from several feet away, sounding vaguely impressed.

“Are you talking about the weird enderman thing in our garden, or the crazy shit that Dorian just did to kill it?” Cullen replied as Milo approached the three of them, sporting a cut on his cheek and another gash on his forehead.

“Both?” Voraan answered. “Whoa, hey there,” he laughed nervously as Milo pulled him into a bracing hug.

“It made me think you were dead,” he said quietly, and from this distance, Dorian could see Milo's eyes were red and wet with tears. “Amelia... everyone was dead,” he croaked, nuzzling his face into Voraan's red hair as they held each other tight.

Dorian coughed after a moment, feeling an awkward yearning at watching their affectionate display that made him avert his eyes. “To answer your questions, Terror demon, for the former,” Dorian said between labored breaths. Maker, the entirety of him felt like it had a spiritual case of road rash. “I don’t really know, for the latter.”

“Are you okay?” Cullen fretted, coming over to support Dorian with one arm. Immediately the pain in Dorian’s soul subsided a little, to his relief. “Are you injured?”

“Oh, probably,” Dorian sighed wearily, taking inventory of his physical pains. “I think just a bad bruise from the fall. I’m… a little out of practice killing demons.”

Cullen chuckled at him softly. “You and us both. Let’s get inside so we can make sure everyone’s alright.”

“We need to find out who did this,” Milo reminded them, seeming unconcerned about his own wounds.

“That can wait, ma vhenan,” Voraan said, a tad sternly. “Hopefully, they won't come back again.”

Dorian agreed with that wholeheartedly. It had been a long night, and despite the mystery now looming above their heads, all he really felt capable of doing in that moment was finding a surface to pass out on for a few hours. Assessing what had happened and what kind of danger remained would have to wait until he could keep his eyes open.

But having an excuse to lean into Cullen's warmth and his soothing touch in the meantime, that wasn’t so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh noooo~  
> as tempted as I am to rewrite this now so that our boys are more badass, I have to remind myself of my original intentions. in this AU they are really not accustomed to combat. So if they seem a bit useless in this encounter, that's why.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: brief mention of video game addiction

 

 

> Tools and/or weapons of the witch
> 
> dagger or sword  
>  wand or staff  
>  chalice  
>  stone or crystal
> 
> For offensive magic, most witches choose between a staff or casting sword to channel their magic. Daggers, wands, chalices and crystals are used in ritual casting or as protective and energy-boosting focus objects.
> 
> There is some debate about whether staves or swords represent air or fire, however it is agreed upon that the chalice symbolizes the element of water, and stones or crystals symbolize earth.

 

The next morning, Dorian dragged himself into the common room, feeling like the most gorgeous zombie that ever did shamble on the earth. A little more done up than usual to balance out the way he felt on the inside, along with his usual eyeliner, he had some shimmering shadow and the lightest mascara emboldening his eyes. With the utmost of concentration he was able to pour himself a cup of coffee like a member of the living, and managed not to inhale it straight away, but took careful, deliberate sips as he surveyed the room.

The Council of Three, Adaar, Milo and Voraan, were bent forward in their chairs and speaking in hushed tones. Krem, Leliana and the Iron Bull, still oblivious to what had happened, were standing together and exchanging some perplexed looks, probably about why a meeting had even been called.

Cullen was standing and laughing with a man Dorian didn’t know: probably his friend he had spoken of the night before. Dorian mustered up a facial expression that looked vaguely human and then floated over to the pair.

“-- and then he just…” the man laughed, almost looking as if he had tears in his eyes. “He just ran in and aggroed the whole room and then G-quit and ninja-logged on the raid!” he exclaimed in a thick Starkhaven burr, and both he and Cullen practically cackled. Dorian stood there, eyebrow raised, and Maker he must have been tired because it hardly sounded like the stranger was speaking the common tongue.

“Oh, spirits, I wish I could have been in vent for that,” Cullen said in a wistful tone.

Compared to Dorian, Cullen was looking ruggedly and effortlessly handsome that morning. The sunlight from the window was catching the edges of his hair and giving him a bright gold halo, but he smiled with just a hint of a suggestion of wickedness, the appropriate portion for this early in the day. Still, it reminded Dorian of their night before, the way they had looked at each other in the dark of the dance floor, the way Cullen had moved against him, solid and surprisingly sensual, and maybe Cullen was thinking about it a little too for how his cheeks went pink when he noticed Dorian approaching.

“Oh, hey, Dorian!” Cullen called out to him, sounding just a little shy, and Dorian approached a bit faster, now that he’d been waved over in welcome. He offered his hand as he and Rylen were introduced.

“A Circle Mage, eh?” Rylen pondered as he firmly shook Dorian’s hand. “We’re becoming a more eclectic bunch by the day.”

Dorian’s eyes quickly swept over the man’s tattoos. He had two full sleeves, from what he could see, as well as a ring of faintly familiar symbols around his neck that wrapped up to his chin. “Sorry -- are those… runes that represent the Old Gods?”

“The Dragons, yes,” Rylen answered, pulling his shirt so the collar dipped and made the runes more visible. “I invoke them in my craft.”

“That’s very... surprising,” Dorian commented.

“I don’t see why,” Rylen shrugged. “The Imperium once covered all of known Thedas, almost. Is it any wonder there are those who have kept the old religion?”

“I suppose not,” Dorian conceded. When he looked back over to Cullen, the man was giving him a look that stopped him in his tracks, gazing at him intently, as if mesmerized by his eyes.

“Alright, everyone, Josie’s here,” Adaar called from the other side of the room, unfortunately shattering the moment. “Let’s get started.”

“Not so loud, if you please,” Josephine whimpered as she slumped into a chair. She was wearing glasses for the first time since Dorian had met her, and was still wearing the same clothes she had been last night. This did not go unnoticed by her friends.

“Did you have a good time last night?” Milo teased her with a halfhearted drawl.

“That is none of your business,” she answered, though she was smiling weakly.

“Hold on to those nice thoughts,” Voraan warned her. “We have some bad news.”

There was the loud scraping of chairs as everyone took their seats around the table, and once it had died down, Milo turned to where Cullen and Dorian were seated next to each other. “So why don’t one of you start?”

With all eyes on them, Dorian hardly noticed that he felt less like the undead just sitting near Cullen, who sat up straighter in his chair, folding his hands on the table. “Well, when we got home last night from the club… we found a demon in the courtyard,” Cullen told the group.

A ripple of confused reactions made its way across the table. It was a moment before anyone spoke. “Okay…” Rylen said haltingly. “When you say… _demon…”_

“A real Terror demon, in the flesh, yes,” Dorian answered. “Summoned with blood magic.”

Silence, then, as everyone looked at each other, half still trying to comprehend, and half solemnly confirming what was being told to them. It was Milo who spoke up next, his voice raspy like he was coming down with the flu.

“All of the wards protecting the building were shattered,” he informed the group. “So we are left with a few problems. One, we’re now more vulnerable. Two, we don’t know who did this, or why. And three, we don’t know when or if it will happen again.”

Dorian suppressed a shiver. He didn’t know what to make of it. He’d started to feel safe here, untouchable. And now that feeling was as shattered as the Coven’s wards. He knew a bit about what it was like when home didn’t feel like home anymore, and he imagined that was how the witches were feeling now. He wanted to find out who had taken that away from all of them and make them pay in a blaze of treacherous death and righteous fire.

“So you two were the ones that discovered the demon?” Iron Bull asked, gesturing to Dorian and Cullen, and they both nodded. “Did you see anything suspicious? Was the front door tampered with?”

“The door was locked,” Cullen answered, then turned to Dorian, suddenly doubting. “Right?”

“Right,” he confirmed. “I remember you unlocking it and locking it back.”

“Did you two see anyone outside?” was Bull’s next question, and both of them shook their heads, thinking hard. “Do you remember anything that stood out?” Bull pressed them, his one eye imploring. “Anything weird or out of place?”

“No,” Cullen assured him, and Dorian shook his head in concurrence. “I mean… we were a bit inebriated, so…”

“Has anyone received any strange messages lately?” Leliana chimed in. “Threats? Angry phone calls?”

The whole group murmured in the negative. The unease in the air was thickening by the moment.

Then Voraan leaned forward so he could see Josephine further down the table. “What about you, Josie? You’re the internet famous one among us.”

“I… I haven’t noticed anything,” she fretted. “But I don’t actually read the comments on my videos. They’re usually full of bad energy.”

“Could you try?” Voraan asked gently. “Just go through some of the recent history and double check for anything particularly nasty?”

“I… yes I can do that,” she promised.

“Meanwhile, we’re going to get the police involved and see if they can find anything,” Milo announced to them. “So expect to see Cassandra around doing her iPod divination,” he warned them, to some weak chuckles.

“Is it possible someone here was involved?” Rylen interjected from the other end of the table.

“You think one of _us_ did this?” Adaar replied, incredulous.

“Well…” Rylen dragged out the word a bit, stalling. “The wards can't be broken from the outside, can they? And there is someone here who is _not_ one of us. Just pointing that out.”

“You think Dorian was involved,” Cullen accused.

Rylen put his hands up, seeming to sense he’d pushed a button of some kind. “Look. I only just met the man. I don’t know him from Maferath. Alright? My point is, he’s an outsider, and this only happened after he showed up.”

“Not to mention,” Krem added, before Dorian could get a word in. “He seems to be familiar with blood magic and demons enough to recognize them.”

“Which I imparted to you in order to _help,”_ Dorian finally protested. “I don’t suppose I get any credit for that, or for actually helping to defeat the creature.”

Rylen shrugged. “Maybe you intended something else, and the demon was an accident.”

Krem crossed his arms, looking quite smug. “That’s a good point. _Whoever_ did this, that might not have been their plan.”

“The demon wasn’t there when we left, and he was with me the whole time,” Cullen almost growled at them.

“And Josephine, _and_ Leliana,” Dorian pointed out. “A fairly solid alibi, if I say so myself --”

“Except that you’ve been staying here for weeks,” Krem interrupted. “And could have set something up to trigger when you were conveniently _not here --”_

“Milo trusts him,” Cullen asserted.

Rylen turned to the Council member, regarding him for a moment. “Last I checked, you can’t _sense_ a blood mage.”

Milo frowned at that. “Well, no, but --”

Rylen tsked. “Then perhaps it’s possible someone could do blood magic -- with the best of intentions -- right under your nose.”

“There’s people here with abilities the Vint doesn’t even know about,” Iron Bull countered. “You think he’s fooling everyone?”

“Sure seems that way,” Krem mumbled.

 _“You’ve_ had it out for me ever since I first got here,” Dorian sneered at him. “I've given you no reason to distrust me.”

Krem cocked his head. “Well I sure as the Void have a reason now, don’t I? _Altus.”_

“Can you give us a reasonable explanation?” Rylen pressed. “For your _familiarity_ with blood magic --?”

“I can, in fact,” Dorian shot back, “in much the same way that Starkhaveners are surely _familiar_ with dental hygiene but don't actually _practice_ it --”

Rylen was taken aback. “Oh, you want to bring _insults_ into this?!”

“Oh _I'm sorry,”_ Dorian threw up his hands. “Was this veritable _inquisition_ based on something _other_ than insulting stereotypes --?”

“You're the _only_ one here that I don't trust,” Rylen said, jabbing a finger in Dorian's direction. “It's the simplest explanation --”

“Enough,” Milo said with finality. He looked over at Dorian, who only just then realized he’d risen from his chair. Milo patiently gestured for him to sit down again, and Dorian complied, only because he could barely feel his extremities for how agitated he was.

How _rich,_ to be looked at by these southern witches with such disrespect, when in the Imperium they would be fortunate to have someone entertain the idea of acknowledging them. And oh, how he wanted to remind his critics across the table that blood magic also had _victims._ But he’d never been willing to accept the hollow victory of winning a debate by showing his scars. He certainly wasn’t going to start now.

He and Milo locked eyes for a long moment, and Dorian knew the empath could see right through him, past his careful facade to all the fear and the hurt. Between the phone call with his father, and the Terror demon, and now this, it felt like he was bleeding all over again.

Milo looked to Leliana then, and she shook her head minutely, the two of them reaching some wordless conclusion. Then Milo looked between Cullen and Dorian a few times.

“Cullen, could you come here for a moment?” Milo beckoned, but kept his eyes on Dorian as the blond rose and wandered over.

A brief whispered conversation, of which Dorian could only gather that Milo said something that caught Cullen off guard, and he thought he heard the phrase, “Does _he_ know that?” to which Cullen simply shrugged, looking baffled. Milo looked back at Dorian then, a sympathetic look in his eyes. “Dorian didn’t do this,” he said wearily as Cullen came back to his seat. But still, Rylen pushed.

“But how do you know --”

“I just _do,”_ Milo cut him off. “You know my policy on sharing what I see in other people's heads. I see enough to know he's not guilty, but I don't have to elaborate, and neither does he.” The room was silent then, as he continued. “This is turning into a fucking _witch hunt._ Unless someone has actual evidence, instead of these baseless accusations, Dorian will remain here as our honored guest.”

“You gonna call for a vote on that, or just declare it unilaterally?” Krem accused with an air of nonchalance.

“We already voted on it,” Adaar answered, her voice firm but impatient. “Before he got here.”

“And we see no reason to rescind our invitation,” Voraan said, his voice the smoothest of all.

Krem rolled his eyes, but then kept them on the table, not looking at anyone. “Well isn’t _that_ just bloody perfect.”

And it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

 

He seethed for a while after. Thought seriously about leaving, serious enough that he actually packed his bags. In the end, he knew it would make him look like a coward. The right thing to do, even if it was also the hardheaded thing to do, would be to stay and help.

So he unpacked his bags, and made himself scarce for a day, scribbling furiously in his notebook about all the things he’d recently learned. He made statements when the police came, and carefully avoided Krem’s resigned glares.

Life mostly went back to normal for the Coven, though there were signs everywhere that things were different, and a low hum of anxiety seemed to constantly hang in the air. The witches took to carrying around weapons everywhere they went, always somewhat prepared for another attack. Dorian kept his wooden staff he’d nicked from the shop, and even helped to train those who were brushing up their combat skills.

Most of their time in the days after the attack were spent hard at work, creating new wards for the grounds, as well as personal items that would grant protection. Dorian observed and took notes, and was finally roped into helping Adaar one morning with one of his projects. Pun intended.

At the large work station in the school’s gymnasium, Dorian held one of Adaar’s creations in his hand, one that they would soon be mass producing. It was a wooden hoop with rope woven around and across it, with an end result that looked somewhat like a spider’s web or spokes in a wheel. The spokes had carefully placed knots in them that made the weaving into a magical sigil.

“So each of these knots... represents a letter in the alphabet?” Dorian asked, looking up to where Adaar was standing. Cullen was seated beside him, quietly taking in the instructions while he fiddled with the ruler in his hand.

“Yep,” the qunari answered. “From this letter wheel here,” she said, holding up the mapping of letters where she had written out the words ‘protection from all harm’ and then turned it into some kind of cipher. “I’ve done the measurements for how far apart they need to be when I wrap the rope around this hoop, so the knots will be in the correct place.”

Dorian just stared at all of it in awe. “Fascinating. And this is a method passed down to you from other Vashoth?”

“Sure. I learned from my dad when I was a kid. I can practically design then in my sleep, now,” she boasted. “So Cullen will measure, you’ll tie the knots, then I’ll weave them into the sigil when you’re done,” Adaar explained.

“A witchcraft assembly line,” Dorian mused, to which Adaar chuckled heartily.

“Exactly,” she said, then startled, patting at her pockets in search of something. “Ah, forgot some of my tools. While you’re getting started, I’m gonna go grab them.”

When she was gone, Dorian and Cullen sat silent for a bit, quietly focusing on their task. Dorian had to make sure he tied the knots in exactly the right place, with only a slight room for error in working with the coarse twine. “Any word from the police?” he finally asked Cullen. “Or anyone?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” the blond answered quietly, focused on his ruler.

“Am I still a suspect?” Dorian inquired ruefully.

“You never were,” Cullen insisted. “Listen, I’m sorry about Rylen. I’ve tried to talk some sense into him.”

“I know he means well,” Dorian pointed out. “He was just barking up the wrong tree.”

“If you can refrain from insulting his teeth, I think the two of you could actually get along,” Cullen chuckled.

Dorian sighed in regret. “I didn't mean that. I'm too witty for my own good sometimes.”

Finally taking his eyes away from his work, Cullen leaned over to nudge Dorian with his shoulder, a forgiving touch. “I know you didn't,”  he said gently. “It was a point well made, anyway.”

Dorian managed to suppress his sigh of relief into no more than a silent exhalation. To learn that Cullen still trusted him loosened a tangle of knots that had taken up residence in his stomach over the last few days. He looked over at the blond, just basking for a moment in the easy, peaceful quiet they were able to share.

“Do you pray to the Old Gods?” he asked Cullen after a while. “I know that’s quite a personal question. I was just wondering, since Rylen does.”

“No, I don’t,” Cullen replied, sounding a bit sad.  “I don’t really know what I believe anymore. I guess I need to figure that out, huh?”

Dorian shrugged at him. “Not _today.”_

“Hmph,” Cullen said doubtfully, but didn’t offer anything more, so Dorian changed the subject.

“What was Rylen talking to you about, that day before the meeting?”

“I... don’t really remember.”

“It sounded like he was speaking a different language,” Dorian recalled. “Something about… ninja logs?”

“Oh, _that,”_ Cullen laughed in fond remembrance. “Yeah I can see how that would sound like a different language. It’s just a video game we used to play together online. He still plays, but…” Then Cullen started sounding sad again. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I used to be _really_ into it,” Cullen answered hesitantly. “That’s how I met Milo, actually. He and I used to play together too, but neither of us do anymore,” he said with quiet regret.

“I hate to sound like a broken record,” Dorian ventured. “But… why not?”

Cullen took a moment to answer. “It… sort of took over my life,” he finally admitted. “So I had to quit. I mean I still play _some_ games, but… there are certain kinds I have to stay away from.”

Dorian could easily read between the lines of what Cullen was saying, easily enough that he knew he had no right to judge the man. “Well, it's good to know one's limits,” he encouraged.

There was a soft, uncertain snort from Cullen. “I try to.”

Sensing that he was once again encroaching on a sore subject, Dorian turned his attention elsewhere. “So what’s going on over there?”

In another part of the gym, Milo stood inside a casting circle, holding hands with Voraan, who stood on the outside of the circle. Within an even bigger circle, Josephine stood next to a table that had a new set of windchimes, poised with a jar of salt in her hand.

“From what I understand,” Cullen began, speaking quietly so they others couldn’t hear. “Milo and Voraan have magic auras that complement each other, or rather, they cancel each other out.”

“How so?”

“Milo is more attuned to earth. Voraan is more attuned to sky,” Cullen explained. “Those are opposites of each other. So when they’re near each other, the auras are lessened.”

Dorian was a bit confused. “And that’s a good thing?”

“It is when Milo is trying to use his empathic abilities. It’s like… two radio stations that are on the same frequency. This allows him to hone in on the other one more clearly. If he can clear his mind enough, he can see spirits on the other side of the Veil.”

Dorian looked over at Cullen, and then at Milo, who seemed to be concentrating intently on something invisible in the middle distance. _“That’s_ what he’s doing?”

Cullen shrugged. “Essentially. Well, maybe not see with his _eyes,_ but he can sense them, definitely, almost like seeing them.”

“Merrill had to use a special mirror to do that,” Dorian remembered.

“That’s another way to do it. More than one way to skin a -- or… you know,” Cullen said with an airy laugh.

“Right,” Dorian agreed, giving him a kind smile.

The explanation tickled at his brain. Dorian couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something significant going on there, a morsel of information he would have to look into more later, when they weren’t trying to protect themselves from demon infestation.

“Now!” Milo said suddenly, and Josephine grabbed some salt and sprinkled it furiously around the windchimes. When she stopped, she seemed to be holding her breath, waiting for Milo make a final call.

“Mmm, nope, that one’s no good,” he declared, sulking a little. “Let it go.”

Josephine swept the salt onto the floor, and Milo dropped Voraan’s hand, rubbing at his face and hunching over a bit with fatigue. After a few moments of rest, his husband’s hand rubbing his back, the witch drew himself tall and took the stance once more. “Alright let’s try again.”

“Ma vhenan, I think you should take a break,” Voraan said gently. “You've been at this a while.”

Milo sighed. “Okay, maybe you're right,” he agreed and the two of them wandered over to Cullen and Dorian's work station hand in hand. “I hope you two are having more fun than we are,” he said to them.

“Is fun a required ingredient in this ritual, do you think?” Dorian quipped.

“Peep is having fun,” Voraan noted, bending down to look under the table. “He's doing some kind of upside down dance.” He demonstrated by swaying left and right a few times.

“I was wondering where he flew off to,” Dorian answered. “I think he does that when he's happy? Not sure.”

“Oh!” Milo exclaimed, seeming to light up with an idea. “Okay but what if we used like... a pair of old reading glasses that belonged to a cat lady -- no listen!” he entreated when his husband laughed at him. “A blue dry erase marker, an unused riot helmet, and a baby eggplant?"

Voraan just looked at him. "Really? A baby eggplant?"

Thinking for a moment, Milo nodded. "You're right. Two baby eggplants,” he said, and the two of them rushed off, presumably to procure the items on their strange shopping list.

“So…” Cullen said beside Dorian as they went back to their knotwork. His voice sounded a bit tentative. “About before.”

Dorian glanced over at him, not entirely certain what he was referring to. “Yes?”

“I was going to ask you out on a date, and then we were sort of interrupted by a demon,” Cullen reminded him with an almost bitter smirk.

“Ah, right…” Dorian said, and they both chuckled about it.

He had only the slightest reservations. It wasn't like he would be in Ferelden forever, Maker forbid. Getting attached to Cullen wouldn't necessarily be the wisest thing, no wiser than building a white picket fence around a house of cards. But it wouldn't be the first time he'd rationalized that doing something unwise on purpose made it permissible.

“I would like to go out with you again. If you can forgive me for trying to save your life,” he teased, and Cullen nodded.

“Maybe something a little quieter than the club,” he suggested. “Coffee, perhaps?”

How utterly _quaint,_ Dorian thought. A coffee date. But quaint was just what he needed in his life after all the chaos and drama. He beamed in approval at Cullen as he gave him his answer. “Coffee would be delightful.”


	8. Chapter 8

 

> A spell to find love, explained unsolicited by J.M.
> 
> (Reminder that it is unethical to cast magic on a person, or with a particular person in mind without their consent. This spell is for generic good fortune in romantic endeavors for the caster or a consenting friend.)
> 
> To be performed before going somewhere that you might meet a potential love. It won't work if you stay at home!
> 
> Sit in a casting circle facing south.  
>  Light a red candle.  
>  Play a song that reminds you of the love you would like to have.  
>  Hold one to three red roses in your hand.  
>  Draw the positive energy from the candle’s flame and the song into yourself, and allow it to flow through you and into the rose(s).  
>  Singing along is not required, but lipsyncing may help you connect with the song's power.  
>  When the song is over, pin the rose(s) into your hair.  
>  If you have short hair, or flowers in hair would not be appropriate for the occasion, you may pin a flower to your shirt, keep it in your bag, or you may anoint yourself with a bottle of rose water instead.  
>  Do not blow on the candle to put it out.
> 
>   
>  (Dorian's notes: If you ever want to start a heated debate, just ask a group of witches sitting around the dinner table what the best love song is for casting this spell.)

 

* * *

 

 Dorian watched with a content smile and a hand under his chin as Cullen stood in line. The barista had just announced a fresh batch of vegan pumpkin cinnamon rolls were out of the oven and of course, Cullen had jumped up to get some for them. Foolish man, Dorian thought with the utmost fondness.

It was a nice opportunity for Dorian to catch his breath. Their first official date was going smoothly, as smoothly as he imagined first dates could go. Still, trying to just ‘be himself,’ but the right version of himself, was a bit overwhelming. He was glad to have a moment to relax and gather his thoughts.

It was also a wonderful opportunity to get a look at Cullen’s arse. His faded blue jeans hugged his backside rather snugly, which may have been the only redeeming quality about them. Dorian wondered if the man even _owned_ anything that wasn’t bought from a thrift shop. It seemed to be a trend amongst these Fereldan witches, for it didn’t seem to Dorian like they were in any particularly dire financial straits. No, it would seem that ‘witch hobo chic’ was just the fashion of the season.

Well, witch hobo chic might have been a bit harsh.

He didn’t bother to hide his appreciative leer when Cullen turned around, bright smile and a plate full of pastries in his hands. Cullen noticed and blushed a little as he came back to their booth in the corner.

“They smelled so good I got two for each of us.”

“Pumpkin cinnamon rolls, eh?” Dorian asked, leaning in to get a whiff. The rolls were humongous, each one the size of his hand. “What is it with you Fereldans and pumpkins anyway?”

“They’re good,” Cullen chuckled as he tore off a piece and stuffed it in his mouth.

“I swear, you have pumpkin flavored everything, here,” Dorian pondered. “Pumpkin cake, pumpkin coffee, pumpkin cinnamon rolls…”

“Pumpkin pie,” Cullen supplied.

Dorian smirked mischievously. “Pumpkin pizza --”

“Now, that I’ve never seen.”

“Pumpkin edible underwear --”

Cullen’s face fell. _“What?”_

“Pumpkin flavored condoms,” Dorian said, still keeping a straight face.

“Oh, Maker’s breath,” Cullen mumbled, fighting to keep from laughing so he didn’t spit cinnamon roll everywhere. While he regained his composure with one hand over his face, Dorian just smiled innocently at him and congratulated himself on the quite lovely shade of red the witch was turning.

He could get used to this, Dorian thought, even as a pang of doubt clenched at his heart. The flirting, the playful banter, the easy company, the secret smiles. All thrilling, but temporary, a house of cards that would all come crashing down on him before it went up in flames. Dorian struggled with whether to build defences around it or himself, even as he put a gentle hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “You are too fun to tease.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun,” Cullen snarked at him.

“Astonishing, isn’t it? It’s all still rather novel to me, this quaint Fereldan lifestyle. It’s you that should be bored to tears; you’ve lived here your whole life, have you not?”

“Not here in Denerim, no,” Cullen answered. “But Ferelden, yes.”

“What were you doing with yourself before you came to Haven?” Dorian asked as he pulled off a piece of roll and popped it in his mouth. It was warm and gooey and just the right amount of sweet.

“I went to university at Redcliffe,” Cullen answered. “History major.”

Dorian and Cullen were about the same age, so that would leave a bit of a gap between university and now. That was curious, but Dorian decided not to press. Maybe Cullen would get around to it. “And where is Redcliffe?”

“It’s south of here. Southwest, on the lake.”

 _“The_ lake?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Is there only the one?”

“Yes, the huge bunny-shaped lake in the middle of Ferelden?” Cullen retorted dryly. “Surely they have maps in Tevinter.”

“Oh, the _bunny_ shape,” Dorian pretended to remember. “I just assumed that was some kind of incoherent scribble that served as your national motto,” he shot back.

Cullen squinted his eyes at him, though they were crinkled at the corners. “Mottos are usually words.”

 _“I know,”_ Dorian said dramatically, and put a falsely sympathetic hand over his heart. “It’s really quite sad, isn’t it?”

Cullen shook his head tightly, grinning but also looking like he was considering payback.

“Tell me about Redcliffe,” Dorian reminded him.

Cullen shrugged, eyes very focused on his food. “I grew up in the area, and it made sense to go to school not too far from home.”

“And you studied history?”

Cullen nodded, swallowing a bit of cinnamon roll. “Specifically Fereldan history. I thought maybe I’d want to teach, but… things didn’t work out that way, obviously.”

Again, Dorian was sensing a certain hesitance. Like Cullen was hiding something, though it seemed more insecurity than something malicious. “Teaching grade school or university age?” he inquired.

“Grade school. Or high school. I like kids... most kids, anyway,” Cullen amended. “I like Amelia, but I can always give her back if she gets to be too much.”

“True,” Dorian agreed. “She doesn’t seem too bad though.”

“You ah…” Cullen fidgeted with his hair a moment. “You seem to be quite good with her.”

“Yes, I actually have some experience with kids about her age.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” Dorian answered, pleased to have surprised the other man. “To get your Senior Enchantership you have to do at least two years of teaching. I got the young ones, ages nine and ten.”

“I never would have guessed that about you,” Cullen admitted, seeming delighted. “I’m having trouble picturing it.”

“I wasn’t sure how I would fare to be honest.” Dorian leaned back in his seat, reminiscing. “I didn’t have any experience with children before that, and when there’s twenty of them and one of you, it can be quite intimidating.”

“I can imagine.”

“But, as it turned out… I um,” Dorian twisted a napkin in his hand, stumbling over the words since it was really nothing to brag about. “I ended up being a class favorite.”

Cullen laughed richly. “Now _that_ I can see. You were _that_ teacher weren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The teacher all the kids had a crush on.”

Dorian tilted his head, suddenly seeing his memories in a different light. “I did receive more than one love letter, it’s true.”

“Now I can see it,” Cullen declared, too amused about it for Dorian’s comfort. “Enchanter Dorian walking down the hallway with a gaggle of baby mages giggling and tittering behind him.”

“There _was_ a lot of giggling,” Dorian had to admit. “A _lot.”_

Then Cullen’s expression turned inwardly thoughtful, insecure about something again. “Did you have trouble with discipline? That was what always worried me.”

“Not really,” Dorian answered. “You’d be surprised how serious _‘writing your name on the board’_ is taken. _Especially_ if you draw a really sad face next to it,” he added.

They both focused on their food and coffee for a moment. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them not to speak about the demon or the anxiety that had settled over Haven in its wake, and Dorian could almost see the gears working in Cullen's mind as he searched for something else to talk about. Although perhaps that was just a typical first date challenge. “What else do you have to do for your Senior Enchantership?”

“Let’s see…” Dorian checked off the list in his head. “Two years teaching, two years of lab work, and then a thesis.”

“And you're finished with your lab work?”

“Yes, I assisted my mentor Alexius on his project,” Dorian told him. “He discovered that magic could be used to manipulate time. A whole new discipline, for us anyway.”

“So why not write your thesis on that?” Cullen pointed out.

“I _could_ , but Alexius has already published his findings, and made quite the splash with it. I would just be riding on his coattails and I don’t have much more to say about it. So I decided perhaps I would try to discover something else new.”

“So that’s why you’re here,” Cullen realized. “To try and find a new discipline?”

“That’s what I had hoped to find,” Dorian corrected. “I think I’ve found several things that would qualify and then some. I’m not totally sure of what I’m going to write up, but my little bat-friend does seem quite promising.”

Cullen was quiet again for a moment, his brow just barely stitched together. “So… then… you have everything you need from here, don’t you?” he asked quietly, like he was hoping to be wrong.

Except he wasn’t wrong.

“Not really…” Dorian protested, caught off guard by the question. He quickly scrambled to come up with some reason why he wasn’t ready to go back. “I’m still very interested in learning as much as I can. In fact… do you have any information about the history of witchcraft? Avvar and Chasind traditions, and so on?”

Cullen nodded as he swallowed down some coffee. “I do, actually. I’ve loaned most of my books to our community library, but… I also have some special stuff I keep in my room.”

Dorian smiled wickedly at that, leaning a little closer to the other man, their thighs and feet brushing under the table. “My _my,_ but that does sound like an invitation for me to go home with you.”

Cullen somehow managed to look both pleased and displeased to be called out. “You’d kind of have to, anyway… but yes.”

“I'm ready whenever you are.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen's room was a cozy space, furnished similarly to Dorian's guest room, only with more stuff accumulated on every surface. There was a small altar in one corner, with candles of nearly every color as well as a dagger and a few small jars. A desk with a rather robust looking computer sat in another corner, complete with the biggest display Dorian had ever seen. Some artsy looking posters had been hung on the walls, which were painted --

“Periwinkle?” Dorian inquired.

“It's soothing,” Cullen shrugged, not looking away from the bookcase stuffed with tomes and other items. Cullen pulled a particular book off the shelf, a thick one bound in black, and handed it out for Dorian to take.

He did so, and finding no engraving on the binding, opened it up to the first page. “Grimoire of Cullen Rutherford?” he read aloud.

“It has a lot in there about the Old Ways you were asking about,” Cullen explained. “Avvar and Chasind spells and traditions.”

“But Cullen,” Dorian protested weakly. “Isn't this kind of a big deal? Letting someone read your grimoire?”

“It is,” Cullen admitted. “But I want you to. I just feel like… you should.”

“I should.” Dorian repeated, not understanding at all.

“I don't know,” Cullen shrugged helplessly. “I just feel led to show it to you.”

“Led? By whom?”

“By… my heart?” the blond tried, looking rather unsure himself.

Dorian tsked at him, flipping through pages. “And here I thought you were just trying to get me alone.”

“That too,” Cullen said, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. “You can read it later, I suppose, but… I'd appreciate it if that didn't leave the room.”

“Fair enough. I'll read it a bit later,” he decided, then stepped a little closer, giving Cullen a look full of dark suggestions, even as he asked, “So what should we do now?”

Cullen answered that by leaning in for a kiss, one more insistent than Dorian would have expected from the man, a kiss that spoke to a desire that had been denied for far too long. Dorian quickly surrendered to it, closing his eyes and bringing his hands up to wrap around Cullen's waist, the book clasped in his fingers, and one of Cullen's hands reached up to grip at the base of his skull.

“Good answer,” Dorian purred, and then pressed his lips to Cullen's again, even more impassioned now that they both knew it was wanted.

As they kissed, that strange floating sensation from the club returned, filling Dorian with energy until he felt he was overflowing with it. Dorian had thought it was just the rush of the music and the crowd, but here it was, happening again, from nothing but Cullen’s lips against his; from a thumb brushing against the beauty mark under his eye.

Dorian let himself be led towards the bed by the front of his shirt, where he carefully laid the book so he could hold on to Cullen like he wanted, hands wandering over his hips and the small of his back and down to that gorgeous arse. He slipped his hands into the back pockets of Cullen's jeans, pulling him as close as possible as he felt Cullen's tongue slip across to explore Dorian's mouth.

Cullen broke away just long enough to pull his sweater over his head, revealing his nicely chiseled arms and a white undershirt.

Dorian hesitated. Heart in his throat, he did the same, letting his shirt fall to the floor, and Cullen eyes roamed appreciatively until they caught sight of the scars on his arm.

He looked up at Dorian, expression wavering between suspicion and concern. Dorian hadn't been with anyone since that awful night, had always been so careful to wear long sleeves and keep the evidence hidden, but Void take him, he had fought and survived just for moments like this.

“I didn't do that,” he blurted, pleading silently with his eyes for Cullen to believe him. “My… it was done to me. I'd rather not talk about it now.”

Cullen stared at him, with the face of a man whose heart was breaking but he didn't know quite how or why just yet. After a moment that stretched towards forever, he nodded shakily, and then took Dorian's hand in his. Cullen pulled their hands up and bent down, pressing a sympathetic kiss over those angry, faded lines.

Something inside Dorian crumpled, and he rushed in for another kiss before Cullen could see the slight dampness in his eyes. He pulled the blond down with him, and they fell onto the bed in a tangle of half-naked limbs.

 

They finished the evening in companionable silence, Dorian reading Cullen's grimoire while using the man's stomach as a pillow, while Cullen played some game on his phone. The grimoire was just as interesting as Cullen had promised, full of beautiful hand drawn illustrations, and helpful charts, and thorough histories. Dorian would occasionally comment or ask clarifying questions, but for the most part they just coexisted in the same space. It was… nice, Dorian found. Very nice.

Even if he had expected the evening to take a different direction. One that involved a little less reading and a lot more nakedness, but that brush with Dorian's past seemed to hang heavy in the air above them, and they'd quietly agreed the mood just wasn't right for going all the way.

Dorian would never admit it, but he was glad.

“There's a lot in here about warding against possession and demonic dreams,” Dorian said quietly as he finished the last page, but then he turned and saw that Cullen had fallen asleep. “Oh,” he whispered, watching to see if he had accidentally woken him up. Cullen didn't stir though, just continued to breathe evenly, his countenance relaxed and his kiss-reddened mouth slightly open.

After watching him for a moment, Dorian slowly pulled himself up and off the bed, putting the grimoire back on the shelf and bending down to retrieve his shirt and pull it back on.

That done, Dorian lingered for a moment, fidgeting with his clothes as his eyes were drawn back to the shirtless form on the bed. He brought his fingers up to his mouth, pinching at his lip as an idea began to form in his mind.

It was a perfect opportunity. Spells were supposed to be more effective if cast for another. And he wanted to. And no one would be around to see him fail or make a fool of himself, right?

He snuck back over to the bookcase, pulling out the grimoire as silently as he could, and flipping back to a particular page that he could still see in his mind, the colors and drawings and symbols still etched in his memory. He quickly read over the spell again to make sure he remembered it right, and then returned the book to its place just as carefully.

He found a blue candle at Cullen's altar, which he lit with magic and then brought over to Cullen's bed, wandering around to touch the base of the candle to each corner, effectively drawing a barrier. Then he approached Cullen, holding the candle over his still-sleeping form, and focusing his magic energy on banishing the darkness from the area he was illuminating.

Then as instructed, he doused the flame of the candle with his fingers, and pressed those fingers up against his lips. Finally, he leaned down and pressed his lips to Cullen's forehead, sealing the spell with a kiss.

“Sweet dreams, Cullen,” Dorian whispered, then put the candle away and left without looking back.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Maevaris** : How is my favourite hothouse orchid faring in the Fereldan cold?  
**Dorian** : Flourishing, thank you. That _is_ just a metaphor after all, and not indicative of actual temperature  
**Maevaris** : And _who_ is this handsome blond in the photos you were tagged in on facebook?  
**Dorian** : Nosy  
**Maevaris** : Okay  
**Maevaris** : Tell me _everything!  
_**Dorian** : How do you even know there's anything to tell?  
**Maevaris** : _Please_ , child, I can practically feel you smiling through the phone  
**Maevaris** : Tell me about your new Fereldan witch love  
**Dorian** : Who said anything about love??!  
**Maevaris** : :)  
**Dorian** : Alright I'll tell you, if only to correct your outrageous assumptions  
**Dorian** : :)

 

* * *

 

“Dorian’s turn,” Josephine announced, practically bouncing up and down in her chair.

“Here, sweet thing,” Isabela said, handing him her deck of cards. “Shuffle those for me.”

It was another lively game night in the common room. As Dorian, Josephine and Cullen were taking turns getting tarot readings in one corner, Milo, Voraan, Bull, Adaar, Leliana and Krem were playing a tabletop game in the other. Other than a lot of laughter and rolling of dice, Dorian wasn’t really sure what was going on over there, but it would seem they had just finished arguing over who was going to drink from something called the ‘Well of Sorrows’ and now they were trying to decide whether to shapeshift into or tame a dragon. Or -- a loud and helpful suggestion from Bull -- seduce a dragon.

He was shushed thoroughly on behalf of Amelia, who sat on the floor by her parents, entertaining herself and Shammy with a coloring book.

His own new bat-friend perched in his hair -- Dorian had long given up on stopping him -- Dorian finished cutting the cards and then laid them in a neat stack on the table.

“Put your hands over the cards and concentrate,” Isabela instructed him, and Dorian did so, closing his eyes.

Tarot had quickly become a guilty pleasure of Dorian's, and he received a reading nearly every time Isabela came to visit Josephine. Which was quite often, actually. The whole thing fascinated him. The symbolism of the cards, the magic behind it, the art of interpretation… In a word, he was hooked.

“Now, what question would you like to ask the spirits of Tarot?”

“Well, you see, there’s this cute boy I like,” Dorian said, not really joking, even if he sounded like it. Cullen snorted beside him. “And so I’d like some advice about my love life.”

“If you want to know if he likes you back, pretty sure you could just ask,” Cullen grumbled.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Dorian responded with a wicked smile as he drew the first card and laid it on the table, face up.

Josephine’s hand flew up to her mouth, eyes smiling, but Isabela looked less affected as the two girls exchanged a significant look. “The Hermit, reversed,” she announced in an slightly interested tone.

“What does that mean?” Dorian pressed, leaning in to the table, entirely too curious to keep his composure.

“Well, it _might_ mean that --”

“Ow!”

Out of nowhere, Amelia’s high-pitched complaint cut through the room, drawing everyone’s attention as she began to pout. “Papa, Shammy _bit_ me,” she said, her voice equal parts shock and confusion.

Dorian whipped over to look at her and her pet. The goat was flying beside her, eyes glowing an angry red, and he would swear he could see a scowl on the creature’s face. Shammy reared back as if winding up momentum for an attack, his wings a flurry, and before Dorian could think about what he was doing, he threw a banishment spell at the thing, which stopped it only a foot from Amelia’s face and had it falling lifeless to the ground.

For a moment, no one moved or made a sound, the whole Coven wide eyed as they looked between Dorian and where Shammy had stood.

“Shammy?!” Amelia cried in bewildered grief. Peep launched himself from the side of Dorian's head and jetted off somewhere, the very embodiment of the phrase ‘like a bat out of the Void.’

Those were the only warnings they got before the room exploded into chaos. Vague but malevolent noises surrounded them, but Dorian was too busy scrambling away from the table, to avoid the huge Pride demon that was clawing its way out of Isabela’s tarot deck. Soon the thing was towering above them, and at the sight of it Dorian barely had a mind to grab Cullen and pull him towards the wall where their weapons were stowed.

“Quickly, this way!” he said to the girls, walking backwards so he could take note of where the threats were. The Pride demon stood in their corner of the room, bellowing a ferocious roar that made the whole room ring, or maybe that was just his ears. And two wisp-wraiths, hurling magic missiles at the other group, who were making their way towards them under Milo’s protection, the man carrying his daugher in one arm and shielding himself from balls of fade-stuff with the other.

As soon as the others were in range, Dorian cast his own barriers. “We need a plan here,” he warned, as the Pride demon lashed out at them with his lightning whip just a second later and short circuited the wiring in the room, plunging everything into darkness.

In the sudden absence of humming lights, Dorian could hear other-worldly roaring in the distance, echoing off the steel and concrete outside. More demons. The group just looked at each other for a second as the direness of the situation sank into their brains.

“Right,” Milo said, shaking his thoughts loose with a tremor of his head. “Everyone grab a weapon. Adaar, you take a team to handle whatever is going on out there.”

“Got it,” she agreed. “Bull, Krem, Leliana. You’re with me.” The four of them immediately headed for the door, which drew the Pride demon’s attention for the few seconds it took them to escape, and then it started looking for another target. Short-sightedness, Dorian guess, a side-effect of Pride.

Those remaining all ducked as more wisp attacks were volleyed their way, and the ground beneath Dorian’s feet shook with every step the Pride demon took, which was unfortunately now heading in their direction, one terrifying step at a time.

“Josephine, take Amelia,” Milo said frantically, handing the sniffling girl over to the other witch. “I don’t think we have any spirits bound to the pantry.”

“I don’t believe so,” Josephine fretted, her voice trembling.

“Good, go and lock yourselves in,” Milo ordered. “Call the police and Cassandra. Isabela, can you hide the three of you from the demons’ sights?”

Isabela thought for only a second. “I think so.”

Beside them, Dorian was still watching the Pride demon, his staff raised and ready for attack. The huge creature was slow, disoriented from suddenly being on this side of the Veil, but it looked more intent on destruction with each passing second. “It’s gaining on us!” he shouted to be heard over all the commotion, or maybe that was just his heart pounding.

Milo cast a barrier on the three girls. “Then go with them. Hurry. Come back and help us if you think it safe.”

“Will do,” Isabela called back quietly as she and her charges became invisible.

“RUN!” Cullen shouted, as the Pride demon came in swiping range at that instant, and he, Dorian, Voraan and Milo raced over to another part of the room, where a table had been upended, providing cover. The sickeningly sweet stench of demon magic was filling the air now, and Dorian did his best not to breathe it in even if he was gasping for air.

“Dorian, we can stay here and fight at range,” Voraan suggested.

“I can tank it,” Cullen asserted with a growl that surprised Dorian with its darkness.

“No, I should tank it,” Milo argued. “I can protect myself from its hits.”

“Tank?” Dorian asked quietly, looking to Voraan for an answer since he was nearest.

“It’s a gaming term,” Voraan said with a shrug, a pendant of petrified lightning hanging from his neck: a gift from his husband that was spelled with protective magic. The crystal glowed sympathetically with the barrier Milo had put over the group. “The person who gets the demon’s attention and keeps it from attacking everyone else.”

Dorian peeked over the table, watching as the Pride demon scanned the room for its prey, its antennae flickering as it heard the two men fight. Then he ducked down just as he saw the two wraiths hurl magic at the top of his head.

“Milo, I don’t need you to protect me like you do everyone else,” Cullen shot back. “I can do this.”

“What, do you think that I _can’t?”_

“Gentlemen!” Dorian snapped at them. “This is a Pride demon we’re up against. It would infect you with the arrogance to confront it alone, and that would be your undoing. You can both ‘tank’ it, or whatever, for fuck’s sake.”

The demon roared again as Cullen and Milo stared at Dorian and then each other, looking sheepish.

“GO,” Voraan shouted, and both of them scrambled to obey, brandishing their swords as they shouted and charged at the beast.

“Let’s take out those wraiths first,” Voraan said to Dorian. “We can alternate attacks. You go first.”

“Gladly.” Dorian lifted up from behind the table and took careful aim at one of the wraiths before letting a fireball fly in its direction.

“Josephine won’t be happy if anything gets set on fire,” Voraan chuckled without humor, as he lifted up to cast his own attack.

“It’s a good excuse to redecorate if nothing else,” Dorian quipped, then hurled another fireball. It took all of his strength to focus on his target and not look over to see how Cullen and Milo were faring. “One down,” he said as he hid again.

Voraan peeked up, then ducked again just before a missile got him in the face. “Fuck-dammit,” he swore as his ears drooped in frustration, making Dorian snort and tremble at the same time. The elf scrambled over to the side of the table and shot a blast of lightning from there. “Alright, that’s the other,” he called.

Dorian figured it was safe to stand then, and pulled himself up to his feet to assess the situation with the main enemy. Cullen and Milo were still standing, thankfully, confusing the Pride demon by attacking and then running behind its massive legs where the creature couldn’t see them. Their swords were lit up with magic as they swiped, which thankfully flooded the area with enough light for Dorian to aim.

Another blast of lightning ripped through the air from Voraan, who stood in Dorian's periphery. For such a small elf he packed quite a punch, but the demon brushed it off, seeming completely unphased. “Shit, it must be immune to storm magic.”

“I know, I can’t use my specialty either,” Dorian replied as he drew on the Fade, calling as much fire to himself as he could. “Not without potentially bringing more demons down on our heads.”

He flinged the fireball at the Demon’s back, right between the shoulder blades, careful not to get too close to their two ‘tanks’. But the demon shrieked in fury and took a blind swing, its spiky arm connecting with a body and sending it across the room and into a wall.

“Milo!” Voraan cried, barely audible over the demon's sadistic cackling, and Dorian watched as the elf visibly steeled himself and stopped himself from running to his husband, the fear in his eyes melting into shaky determination as he nodded. “We need to finish this.”

The two mages pulled on the fade in tandem, letting loose two huge fireballs that found their target and for a moment brightened the room with searing flames. The demon staggered for only a moment, before starting to focus on building a lightning spell of his own.

Then the air around Cullen burst into a blinding light, cancelling out the demon’s magic with the sound of shredding aluminum, a glowing amulet hanging from his fist as if to keep his foe at bay. As Dorian’s pupils adjusted, he saw the demon seemed suddenly dazed, allowing Cullen to hack unhindered at it with his sword.

“That’s it, Cullen!” Dorian shouted to him and volleyed more fire at the beast. “Keep it up!”

“I’ll -- try,” Cullen answered.

He kept it up for only two more repetitions, dispelling the demon’s magic, and disorienting it for the three of them to unload, before the spell failed, and Cullen barely rolled out of the way before the lightning hit the floor where he’d just been standing. Cullen looked tired, and for a moment, it looked doubtful whether he would even be able to get up.

Dorian’s heart was trying to leap out of his chest. “We need to help him,” he decided. He’d be damned if he would lose Cullen now, when everything that lay before them was so full of possibility and promise. “Come on!”

Without seeing if Voraan followed, Dorian ran across the cafeteria, avoiding the obstacle course of chairs and tables that had been strewn across the floor, and resisting the fear that threatened to turn his legs to lead. He cast a blinding snow flurry spell to keep the demon occupied, while he pulled Cullen to his feet and led him out of range. Dorian coughed, lungs filling with smoke where the demon was still burning.

“I’m almost out of mana,” Dorian croaked, looking back to see that Voraan was covering their retreat, still hitting the demon with relentless fire attacks.

“Yeah, I can’t take much more of this,” Cullen said.

“Should we just make a run for it?”

“We can’t, we’d leave the girls trapped,” Voraan reminded them.

Oh. Well this just got better and better, Dorian thought, looking over to where Milo was apparently conscious, but struggling to move.

Just then, a figure appeared out of the darkness, leaping up at the creature and latching onto it’s back with two sharp butcher knives, striking like a cobra’s fangs.

Isabela.

“Alright, you,” the tarot witch sneered as she climbed up the demons’ back, using the knives to pull herself up as the beast futilely tried to swat her off of itself.

“Dorian! Barrier!” Voraan suggested tersely, and Dorian obeyed, casting a protection spell over Isabela as she climbed her way to the Pride demon’s head. Then she hugged around its neck, managing a deep slice through its throat before it managed to buck her off of it and she fell to the ground.

Another gurgling shriek from the demon, which was cut short as it fell to its knees and then toppled, slumping into a huge, lifeless pile of purple spikes.

The group stood still for a moment, not trusting that the fight was over, but Voraan broke first, running quickly to Milo’s side.

Dorian cast a spell to put out the burning demon corpse, and then went to help Isabela to her feet, brushing some of the Pride guts off of her hair as she straightened her clothes. “Thanks,” she said with an uneven smile.

“You alright?”

“Of course, sweet thing.”

“You better be. I don't want to answer to Josephine if you're not returned in one piece,” Dorian joked, and was rewarded with a brighter grin.

“Are you hurt?” Cullen was asking Milo, who was groaning as he was helped to his feet by his husband.

“Nah, I’ll be okay,” Milo said, strained. “Just got distracted, and got knocked a tiny bit unconscious. That's all.”

“You're shaking, vhenan,” Voraan fretted, his hand supporting Milo's shoulder. “Are you sure you're okay?”

Milo gave him a sorrowful look. “Everyone’s really afraid. It's… a lot to process.”

“Of course,” Dorian said, too exhausted from the fight to have a filter on his mouth. “You can feel it.”

Milo waved him off. “Worrying about me will just make it worse. I'll manage. We should find the others.”

“Tell us if you feel dizzy or anything,” Voraan said as he handed Milo his sword.

“It’s really quiet out there,” Cullen said, and Dorian’s blood went cold. He was right. There wasn’t a sound coming from the courtyard. That probably didn't bode well, but he was too smart to say so.

The five of them snuck out the door, careful not to make a sound as they approached the garden. That was difficult, with Milo's pained breathing and the rest of them fighting to catch their breaths as well. They were in no shape to keep fighting, except for Isabela, but depending on what awaited them, they might not have had much choice.

“Psst!” came a whisper from the walkway above them. “What's going on down there? We heard fighting.”

“We're under attack,” Voraan whispered up to them. “Tell everyone up there to stay put for now.”

“Maker’s breath. Will do.”

“Thanks, Blackwall,” Milo said, and then they kept moving.

For a few moments that felt like an eternity, they didn’t see anyone, friend or foe. But then finally, Adaar’s group came into view, sitting in the grass and being tended to by Officer Cassandra and a redheaded policewoman Dorian didn’t know.

“There you are!” Cullen rushed to them, sounding immensely relieved. “Is anyone hurt?”

“Only some scrapes and bruises,” Cassandra reported. “Nothing serious.”

“Are there any more demons?” Dorian asked, and Cassandra shook her head.

“I believe we are out of danger now.”

The newly arrived group took in their surroundings nonetheless. Dorian noticed several piles of charred demon ichor, faintly glowing like embers in the pale light. A great deal of smoke was coming from one side of Josephine's garden, and shards of blackened glass were scattered on the concrete where the wind chimes and rope sigils had been hanging. The result of days of works, now ruined. Even through his fatigue, Dorian felt his blood begin to boil.

“What happened out here?” Voraan asked in the shocked silence.

“Rage demons,” Adaar answered. “A lot of them.”

Another moment of silence, as everyone took in this information, with Milo frowning the hardest. “The wards, too?”

Adaar nodded. “Cass and Aveline got here just in time.”

“I don’t understand how this could happen,” Cassandra griped. “Where did all these demons come from?”

“They were our own bound spirits, that turned on us,” Voraan answered dejectedly.

“My bloody cards turned into a demon in the middle of the common room,” Isabela groused.

“And Ataashi,” came Bull’s voice.

“And Schmooples,” Leliana added.

So _that's_ where the wraiths had come from, Dorian realized. But then… what had happened to Peep? Dorian looked around again surreptitiously, but saw no sign of the creature.

Cassandra’s eyebrows shot up. _“Turned_ on you? Even Schmooples? How is that possible?”

“I don’t know, it happened so fast,” Leliana answered. “Is there any evidence of someone having been here?”

“We’ll look around,” the redhead, Aveline assured them. “Anyone need medical attention? An ambulance is on its way.”

“This one does,” Voraan answered, pulling a protesting Milo forward.

“I’m fine.”

“He might have a concussion,” the elf said, ignoring him. “Please have them look at him.”

“I need to check on Amelia.”

“We can do that, vhenan. You just stay here and rest a minute,” Voraan told the pouting Milo.

With that, the remainder of them slowly started back towards the pantry.

“So who’s gonna break the news to Josie that half her garden got singed?” The Iron Bull wondered aloud in his booming voice.

“Not it,” Krem called, but no one else had it in them to reply.

“Has anyone seen my bat-friend?” Dorian asked, finally speaking up about it. Everyone stopped and turned to look at him.

“He was with us in the common room, wasn't he?” Cullen pointed out.

“He was, but there were only two wraiths, and the Pride demon, and Shammy, yes?” Dorian recounted. “Did you fight a wraith out here?” he inquired, looking to Adaar’s group, who all shook their head.

“Looks like we might not be out of the woods just yet,” Adaar said gruffly. “Everyone be ready.”

 

There was no sign of Peep. Josephine and Amelia, however, were found unharmed but shaken by the ordeal, the older seeking comfort in Isabela’s arms, while Voraan tried to calm the child and assure her that her father would be fine.

“No one is holding _me,”_ Dorian pretended to sulk, looking under his lashes in Cullen’s direction.

Chuckling a little, the blond inched closer and put his arm over Dorian’s shoulder. “Me either. I guess we’ll just have to hold each other,” he flirted back.

Just then, a tiny squeaking noise came from over their heads, and then repeated as who other than Peep came and landed on Dorian’s other shoulder.

Under the startled stare of the others, Dorian crept his gaze over to the side, staying very still as he tried to assess whether Peep was still friend or foe. The bat’s eyes didn’t seem to be glowing red, and so far he wasn’t biting anybody…

Dorian carefully lifted a hand, as if Peep might easily startle if he tried to grab him too quickly. But Peep easily allowed himself to be transferred to Dorian’s hand, where he underwent a thorough inspection.

“Well?” Adaar asked the question everyone was thinking, by the looks on their faces.

“He appears to be unaffected.”

“Peep!” the tiny bat agreed happily.

“Are you _sure?”_

“He’s still Peep,” Dorian answered. “Though I’m not sure how. Although I did add a little something… _extra_ to Merrill’s ritual.”

“Something extra?” Cullen repeated.

“I know a spell that helps with the longevity of a spirit being bound to a… body,” Dorian said carefully, realizing that Amelia was watching, her attention drawn away from where Voraan was trying to distract her with a harmless lightning trick. “So I tried it on Peep, and it worked. Merrill said he was ‘twice-bound’ now, whatever that means.”

“So, he’s safe?” Iron Bull pressed.

“I… believe so. I will keep an eye on him to be sure,” Dorian promised.

Amelia pulled away from Voraan, eyes shining as she shyly approached Dorian and his bat. “Does… does that mean you can fix Shammy?”

Dorian’s heart broke a little for her. That little flying goat was like her best friend. He knew a little about what that was like, he thought, remembering Felix, for whom -- in a way -- he had already grieved. “I’m not sure,” Dorian confessed sadly.

“Will you try? Please?” Amelia begged, looking and sounding like she was on the verge of tears again.

“I --” Dorian sighed, giving in, knowing he was weak against those huge puppy eyes. Anything to make this night a little less awful for someone. If that was in his power, he would do it even if it took everything he had in him. “I can’t make any promises. But I will try, for you, my dear. And only if your parents say that they are alright with it.”

Then Amelia bounced back over to Voraan. “Please say that he can, babae. _Pleeeassse…”_

Voraan let out a long suffering but fond sigh. “Alright --”

“Yaaaaay!”

“-- But we’ll need to watch him for a while once he comes back to make sure he’s safe for you to play with, okay?”

Amelia cheered again, unconcerned with the details, and then following her, they all adjourned to the battle-torn common room. Table and chairs were everywhere, and there were long burnt lines in the tile where the Pride demon’s lash had fallen.

“Are we cleaning all this up tonight?” Krem asked no one in particular.

“I say we wait until the morning,” Voraan answered. “We should rest while we can, in case something else happens.”

A murmur of agreement, and then the whole crowd watched as Amelia scooped up Shammy’s tiny body and handed him over into Dorian’s care.

“Well…” Dorian said to the expectant crowd, fighting a yawn. It had to be at least nine o’clock at night, now. “This will probably take a while. I guess I’ll make some coffee and get started.”


	10. Chapter 10

> Guidelines of witchcraft:

  1. > Do no harm.

  2. > Never name names.

  3. > The more effort and faith you put into a spell, the more effective it will be.

  4. > A spell cast for another (consensually) will be more effective than a spell cast for oneself.

  5. > A spell cast by a group of witches will be more effective than a spell cast alone.

  6. > _Anything_ is possible, but _everything_ has consequences.

  7. > As you speak it, so it shall become.




 

* * *

 

 

Dorian startled awake at the feeling of a book being slowly, gently pried out of his hands. He snapped his eyes open but squeezed them shut against the unexpected brightness. Then he cracked his lids open, relieved to see the silhouette of a curly head of hair against the lights overhead.

“It's just me,” Cullen said in a soft voice, as the mattress shifted to support his weight.

“What time is it?” Dorian croaked, pushing himself up from where he’d fallen asleep perpendicular on the bed. He probably looked a sight, his eyeliner clumping at the corners of his lids, an indentation from the quilt pressing a crease into his cheek, and yes, that would be a little bit of drool. Lovely, he thought, as he did his best to surreptitiously wipe it away under the guise of covering a yawn.

“About two in the morning,” Cullen answered. “You don’t have to pull an all-nighter, you know.”

“Mm,” Dorian replied, unwilling to acknowledge he was planning on exactly that. How determined he had become over what was essentially a child’s toy. “Have you been sent by Miss Amelia for a report?”

“She… _was_ getting rather anxious, but… the grown-ups sent her to bed, and then sent you their reminders that it really is fine if you can’t figure it out. Don’t be too hard on yourself about it.” One of Cullen's hands came up to massage his knee.

“Everyone else still awake then? I don't blame them.”

“Mm,” Cullen nodded. “I’d have let you keep sleeping, but you didn’t look too comfortable.”

Dorian rubbed at his eyes with his hands, fingers coming away with sleep dust and kohl. “Could _you_ have said no to that face?” he argued, voice going nasal as he pressed at his sinuses, trying to wake up.

“I _have_ said no to that face, you’re just not as immune to it as we are,” Cullen laughed. “I see you drew a circle here.”

“Yes,” Dorian said, moping as he looked at the faintly glowing shape on the ground.

“Did you actually attempt anything, or are you still theorizing?”

“Well, I don’t want to get it bloody _wrong,_ now do I?” Dorian jumped up off the bed, and plopped down in the center of the circle next to the still inanimate Shammy, crossing his legs so he’d be completely inside. Cullen rose and sat on the outside, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“You're probably overthinking it.”

“I just -- _ugh,”_ Dorian sighed, rubbing at his temples with his elbows resting on his knees. “I feel like this is some kind of test. I don’t know why, but I feel like I _have_ to do this, and I _have_ to get it right.”

Cullen frowned. “Or else what?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian shrugged. “I have something to prove, I suppose. To somebody, somewhere.”

“Don’t think about it like that,” Cullen said gently, reaching inside the circle to touch Dorian’s knee again, sending a wave of peace through him that calmed his anxiety somewhat. _“We’re_ certainly not. Amelia is most _definitely_ not. She just wants Shammy back, by any means necessary.”

Dorian snorted, shivering and jittery from having abruptly woken up at such an unusual hour. Surely there was something more reasonable they could be doing with their time, like going back to bed, making out a little, finding some comfort from the earlier calamity in each other's arms...

He stared at Shammy, as if staring at the creature had helped him any of the other times he’d tried. It looked so ordinary now, as if it had never known magic at all.

“What is it that you’re stuck on?” Cullen prodded in a soft voice.

Dorian shook his head at him. “You can’t help me,” he protested. “I have to do this myself. For some reason.”

“And you’re going to,” Cullen assured him. “I can’t give you the answers because I don’t have them. But maybe I can help you arrive at the correct conclusion. Like a cheat sheet.”

“A cheat sheet _has_ the answers,” Dorian said with a half-hearted glare, but Cullen just gave him a patient smile.

“What are you stuck on?” he repeated.

Dorian let out a long sigh. “I know how Merrill did it. But that was how _she_ did it. And… I have to find my own way, don’t I? I have to do it the way that makes sense to _me.”_ And that didn't require blood magic, he thought, but kept that part to himself.

“Using someone else’s methods as a starting point isn’t against the rules or anything. There are no rules,” Cullen reminded him. “There’s no _wrong_ way to do it, you know. I mean, there _is_ , but --”

“I know, I just… that’s the test,” Dorian tried to explain, even if he really didn't understand why. There was just this vague sense of significance to the whole thing, even if it's meaning eluded him like the source of a mystic light at the end of an overgrown path. “I have to do this my way.”

“Okay.”

“But… I don’t know what my way _is.”_

“Alright,” Cullen said softly. “Let’s start with what you’re trying to accomplish.”

Dorian was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I want to bind a spirit, a _benevolent_ spirit to this doll. And then guard it against corruption. A spirit that will act like a goat. That will act the way that Shammy acted before. It can’t just be _any_ spirit goat, it has to be _Shammy_ or at least Shammy-esque because -- _don’t tell Amelia -_ \- I can’t actually bring the old Shammy back.”

“I think we all know that,” Cullen said, wincing kindly with one eye closed. “The grown-ups do, anyway.”

“So… it has to be… close enough that _she_ won’t be able to tell.”

“Right. Like my parents used to do with my sister’s hamster. Ham _sters_ .” Dorian raised a curious eyebrow at him, so Cullen sighed and kept going. “They used to tell Rosalie that the dead hamster had only been _sleeping_ and sneakily replaced it with a lookalike.”

“Right… just like that,” Dorian said, nodding a bit skeptically.

Cullen clapped his hands together. “Okay, so… what element most closely symbolizes what you’re trying to accomplish?”

“Well Merrill used… air. Right. ‘The breath of life,’” Dorian recalled. “I dunno, should I do like, tiny little chest compressions on him? Goat CPR?”

It was Cullen’s turn to look skeptical now. “Is that what makes sense to you?”

 _“None_ of this makes sense to me, Cullen,” Dorian argued, throwing up his hands. “None of it does.”

“Okay.” Cullen held out a hand as if he were trying to sooth a spooked animal. “Close your eyes,” he instructed, and Dorian did so. “Just let go off all of that. All the anxiety, all the tension... Relax. Visualize what you want to accomplish. What do you see?”

“Shammy... alive,” Dorian answered, eyes still closed.

“More than that.”

“Shammy… and Amelia. Reunited. Happy. Safe.”

“Okay. Now start there, and see where it leads you.”

Dorian focused in on that image in his mind’s eye: Amelia playing with Shammy, happy and innocent. Chasing Shammy around the garden or trying to feed him carrots. Toting that silly book around wherever she went, insisting that people read it to her or let her read it to them, and when all of the grown-ups were busy, she’d read it to Shammy.

The images came faster now. Amelia’s love for Shammy and Milo’s amusement at his daughter and her developing personality. The way he smiled at her as if she could do absolutely no wrong, unconditional love even as he gently corrected her behavior. The way that gentleness and joy was translated into the way she would play with her pet. The way she would mimic the way her father cared for her when she was reading to Shammy, and then pretending to put him down for a nap --

It was then Dorian realized he was crying, huge, fat tears rolling down his face as for a moment, he allowed himself to mourn the childhood he never had. A childhood free of the burden of living up to an impossible legacy, a childhood where he was free to actually be a _child._ He allowed that thought to be buried and reborn as the realization, that he would have to approach the problem at hand as if he were as young and naive as Amelia was now.

“Dorian,” Cullen fretted, scooting into the circle to cup Dorian’s face in his hands. Brushing a tear away with his thumb, he shushed Dorian gently and then whispered, “Dorian what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Shammy isn’t dead,” Dorian croaked, sharing his epiphany through a teary smile. “He’s just sleeping.”

“Is that so?” Cullen answered, confused, probably thinking that Dorian had gone a little bit mad. It _was_ mad, mad or brilliant, and perhaps just so mad or so brilliant that it might actually work.

“I know what to do,” Dorian said, trying again. “But…” he sniffled. “I need you to do something for me. Because -- Venhedis -- I can’t go out like this.”

“Alright,” Cullen assented. “Whatever you need.”

Dorian dabbed at his eyes. Fuck, his kohl was running, just as he thought. “I need you to go get the book, and a brown or white candle.”

Cullen looked confused. “What book?”

“The goat book. Amelia’s book.”

“...I’ll be right back.” And then Cullen rushed out of the room, as if he and Dorian were on exactly the same page.

 

“‘Once there was a goat named Gregory. Gregory liked to jump from rock to rock, kick his legs into the air, and butt his head against walls. “I’m an average goat!” said Gregory…’ Here you read the next page.”

“Oh, I’m to be complicit in this am I?” Cullen complained, though he was grinning all the same.

Dorian smiled smugly back. “In the Circle, we call this mutually assured blackmail.”

From the outside of the circle, Cullen took the book from him and turned to the next page. “‘But Gregory was not an average goat. Gregory was a terrible eater! Every time he sat down to eat with his mother and father--’”

“A bit heteronormative, don’t you think? Sorry I’ve just always wanted to say that.”

“‘-- he knew he was in for trouble.’” Cullen finished, glaring.

Once he and Cullen finished reading the storybook to Shammy, Dorian tucked the goat into a makeshift bed made of washcloths, with a rolled-up sock as a pillow.

“And let’s make sure he has a glass of water in case he gets thirsty,” Dorian declared, as he set a plastic toothpaste cap filled with water by Shammy’s bed.

“And the candle?”

“I’m getting to that,” Dorian sniffed. He lit the brown candle and then touched it to each corner of Shammy’s little bed, and held it over the lifeless doll for a few moments. This time, instead of focusing his energy on banishing, he imagined he was inviting something to come back that was lost. Then he put the flame out with his fingertips and pressed them to his lips, just as he’d done in Cullen’s room a few nights prior. Then he leaned down and kissed Shammy on the forehead.

“Very clever,” Cullen congratulated, looking genuinely impressed. He leaned down and gave the goat a kiss of his own. “Goodnight, Shammy.”

“Goodnight, Shammy,” Dorian said quietly. “Sweet dreams. See you in the morning.”

Then both of them breathed a sigh of relief.

“And now we wait,” Cullen whispered as he pulled himself off the floor and then offered a hand to Dorian, helping him up as well.

Dorian cleared his throat as he got to his feet. “I don’t suppose you would stay with me?” he asked. “Not for… _s-e-x_ of course, not in front of the goat.”

A breath of a laugh from Cullen’s nose. “Right?”

“I just… like having you around,” Dorian admitted. “If you want to stay.”

Cullen’s smile was so bright it was almost irritating, but it melted away to worry almost as quickly. “I’d love to,” he began. “But… I have bad nightmares.”

“That’s alright,” Dorian assured him. “I know a spell for that.”

Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes cutting to the side with whatever he wasn’t sure he wanted to say. “I haven’t found anything that works,” he said, sounding defeated. “Because I work with spirits the way I do -- spirits that are really attracted to life -- it leaves me more vulnerable. Especially in my dreams.”

Brow furrowing, several things instantly clicked into place in Dorian’s mind. “That’s why you have so many spells to ward possession in your grimoire.”

“Yes. It’s… a risk I willingly endure, but… sometimes I wake up screaming, and that’s on a _normal_ night. With everything that’s going on lately -- I wouldn’t want to disturb you.”

Dorian smiled, realizing they were both whispering for Shammy’s sake, as if talking in normal voices would disturb his slumber. He stepped forward, placing his hands on Cullen’s shoulders, trying to sooth the tension he saw there plainly. When he spoke, it was barely more than air. “Let me ask you something.”

“Hm?”

“The night after our date. Did you have nightmares then?”

Cullen frowned, thinking about it. “I… slept better that night than I had in a while actually. I woke up still in my jeans, but I was well rested. I remember that.”

“The dream spell I just did for Shammy?” Dorian reminded him, and Cullen nodded that he understood. “That night, I did that spell for you.”

Cullen’s brows shot up. “You did?”

“And it worked, yes?” Dorian prodded, barely containing his excitement.

Cullen looked impressed again. “I… guess it did!”

“So, don’t worry,” he said, leaning in to kiss Cullen softly on the lips. “I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

 

* * *

 

The next time Dorian woke, it was to giggling. A warm body was laying next to him, and they were _giggling._ Confused, he opened his eyes and seeing the tiny bed on the floor, was reminded of what had transpired during the night. His heart leapt as he saw in the early morning light, that the bed was empty.

Rolling over, he was met with an entirely too cheerful Cullen, who was currently getting his hair chewed on by a very awake and attention-seeking Shammy.

“Good morning!” Cullen greeted, patting the tiny goat on the head. “Look who it is!”

“I see,” Dorian replied, unable to hide his proud smile. “Does he seem… safe?”

“Oh yes. Aside from a little harmless hair munching, but that’s pretty typical.”

“So I remember,” Dorian agreed. “So now all there is to do, is make sure he stays this way,” he said and cast the spell that would make the spirit inside Shammy twice-bound to his body.

“Well I suppose we should return you to your master, post-haste, yes?” he asked Shammy, who fluttered his wings happily in response.

 

The two of them made themselves presentable and then went downstairs to the still-ravaged and unlit common room, where several members of the Coven were having breakfast.

Snuggled in Dorian’s arms, Shammy seemed to understand the need to present himself as a calm, rational goat, and so the group took a moment to notice that he and his two human escorts were even there.

Milo was the first to look up, having apparently recovered from his head injury the night before, though he still had some nasty bruising and looked like he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. He blinked up at Dorian and then looked to Shammy, a weak grin brightening his face. Not saying anything, he bent down to where Amelia was sullenly eating her cereal and nudged her with his shoulder.

“Amelia,” he said softly. She looked up at him and he gestured to where Dorian was standing.

“Shammy!” It was worth the long and almost sleepless night to see the look on the little girl’s face, the way she went from downtrodden to overjoyed in about one second flat. She got out of her chair and ran over to Dorian, calling her pet’s name over and over in a celebratory sing-song.

“We’re pretty sure he’s safe,” Dorian said, for the parents’ benefit if not for the child’s. “And I believe my instructions were to hand Shammy over to the grown-ups for observation.”

Amelia pouted a bit at this, but not nearly as much as she had been before. Everyone else at the table seemed pleased enough, he noticed, as he handed Shammy over to Voraan for safe keeping.

“Nice going, Tevinter,” Rylen acknowledged, as Krem gave Dorian an appraising frown, as if to say ‘not bad.’

“Thank you,” Milo said to him sincerely. “For everything. You really helped us out last night. And you saved both of them.” He gestured to both Amelia and her pet. “We are in your debt.”

“Think nothing of it,” Dorian insisted. “Just earning my keep. How are you faring?”

Milo waved him off. “I’m fine. I just have to take it easy for a few days, that’s all.”

“Is there any news of who attacked us?” Cullen asked.

“None,” Milo answered, shaking his head.

“Cassandra and Aveline are still investigating, but they don't have any leads just yet,” Josephine added. Even she looked rougher than usual, her face free of makeup and her hair back in a ponytail instead of her usual braided updo.

“We’re… considering our options,” Milo said cryptically. Everyone at the table seemed to tense at that, the whole room eerily quiet like the uneasy calm in the eye of a storm.

But Milo seemed to emotionally change gears, and managed a smile as he gestured to the kitchen. “You two can grab some breakfast, and then you should probably get some more rest,” he suggested.

Beside Dorian, Cullen frowned. “Aren’t we going to clean up the damage today?”

“We’re going to focus our efforts on being prepared in case it happens again,” Milo told them. “We have no wards now, so all of us need to be at our strongest, even if that means taking it easy today. Just get some food and some rest, and we can talk about it later.”

That sounded very much like a dismissal, so Cullen and Dorian shrugged tightly at each other and then made their way to the serving line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long delay, etc. etc.  
> this fic is so close to being finished it's gonna kill me if I don't. I'm gonna try and punch the rest out before I have to go back to work next week. As such, it might be a little rough in places.


	11. Chapter 11

> Incidental enchantment - the process of an object being imbued with magic properties inadvertently by its owner. For example, a sword that is used by a great warrior will, over time, be enchanted by his or her intent to use the weapon - whether to slay or protect. A person's sentimental attachment to a ring can enchant it with certain aspects of their character, such as intellect or willpower, etc.

 

* * *

  


As soon as they were back in Dorian’s room after breakfast, Cullen caught Dorian by surprise with a ferocious hug, even as the door was still closing behind them. Cullen held him close and didn’t let go, and it took a moment for Dorian to lean into it, to trust it and wrap his arms around Cullen’s back.

Dorian had a few cups of coffee and a decent breakfast helping him feel more like a person again after his near all-nighter. But he didn’t realize how drained he still felt until the warmth of Cullen’s body began to soak into him, making him feel more himself somehow, more powerful, as if in the strength of Cullen’s embrace he could do anything. His skin was singing with how good it felt, and it knocked Dorian further off balance as he came to an important realization.

But instead of acknowledging it, minutes passed while they stood there, Dorian’s face buried in Cullen’s shirt and Cullen’s relieved breathing in his ear and his heart pounding in his chest.

“What's this for?” Dorian asked, voice muffled, and he was glad that the words wouldn’t belie the new truth that was squeezing at his throat.

Cullen let out a worried sighed. “I'm just so glad that you're safe,” he said and held Dorian even tighter. “I didn't have a chance to say that before.”

Dorian could recognize a tentative confession when he heard one, and could hear all the words Cullen wasn’t saying in the way he held Dorian close. Surely after such a close call, Dorian could muster up the courage to do the same. “Me too,” he said quietly, then laughed when he realized how that sounded. “I'm glad I'm safe, too.”

Cullen laughed with him, though when Dorian pulled back to look at him, there was something a bit lost in his expression, like he were searching for something more. “And I suppose I would _notice_ if something were to happen to you,” Dorian joked and again, Cullen chuckled, but Dorian mentally kicked himself, knowing he was just putting off what he really wanted to say.

“No, I can do better than that,” he said, pulling away to tug at his hair.

Cullen’s frown was concerned and yet forgiving. “Dorian --”

“No, listen.” Dorian held up his hand. “I detest confessions. Mostly because I'm awful at them, but… I've realized something. And now seems as good a time as any to say it.”

Cullen nodded, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he took a step back to listen.

“People who have come very close to dying…” Dorian began, knowing it wasn’t a great place to start, but then again, he _had said_ he was horrible at this kind of thing. “They say that right before the end, this calm suddenly takes over. That you just know everything is going to be fine. Or, well, it’s not, but -- your mind just accepts that this is the end, and that’s okay.”

Dorian clasped his hands together, fidgeting with one of his rings and not quite meeting Cullen’s eyes. “I've been practicing death magic for a while now, and I guess I just never noticed the effect it had on me. You said your magic comes at a cost, and so does mine. But I didn't notice until recently just how much I _ache_ inside, like there’s part of me that’s just fighting, all the time. Fighting to survive. But I didn’t notice, not until I was around you, and all that went away.”

He finally got up the courage to look at Cullen, at the hope and confusion in his face, and prayed to the Maker he was saying the right thing. “When I'm around you, I feel calm,” he said with a shrug. “Like everything is going to be fine.”

“I’m not... sure I... understand,” Cullen said haltingly, his expression more worried with each of Dorian’s heartbeats. “Are you saying that I make you feel like you're _dying?”_

“Yes, but in a good way?” Dorian answered plaintively, letting out a breathy laugh which luckily Cullen returned. Then Dorian reached for one of Cullen’s hands and brought it up to his face, pressing it fully against his cheek. “But when you _touch_ me…” he breathed. “I feel more alive than I have since…”

 _Since Rilienus,_ he stopped himself from saying. Since the last time he’d had someone touch him so readily, and touched readily in return, warmth and emotion overflowing into the places where their bodies met. But he had pushed Rilienus away, in the end. Couldn't risk him becoming collateral damage in his father’s war against Dorian's sexuality, couldn't subject _anyone_ he halfway cared about to that, much less someone he loved. Since then he'd been alone, depriving himself of the one thing for which he'd fought the demon tooth and nail, cowering in the long shadow that awful night still cast.

It seemed he would never be done fighting.

“In a long time,” he said instead of _any_ of that. “That’s what I draw my magical energy from, I’m fairly sure. That’s what…” he swallowed hard. “...recharges me.”

“Me touching you?” Cullen whispered reverently.

“Being touched,” Dorian corrected gently, knowing it wasn’t just Cullen, but not wanting to ruin the moment with details. “But don't feel that you have to, or anything,” he said, smiling as he twined his fingers into Cullen’s where they were stroking his face.

“So, like this?” Cullen asked, pleased with himself as he took the weight of Dorian’s head into his hands and began covering his face with the lightest of kisses, each one soft and yet heavy with adoration. Each one significant unto itself, yet so unwavering Dorian was sure Cullen could kiss him like this forever, until those touches were as insignificant as rain falling on the sea.

“Mmm,” Dorian answered, a perfectly contented noise. “Yes.”

“And this?” Then Cullen pulled Dorian to him, hands wandering over his back and down to the hem of his shirt as he pressed that same soft kiss to Dorian’s nose, and then dragged his lips up the bridge of it to the arch between his eyes. Dorian shivered and wound his arms around Cullen’s neck, a motion that pulled his shirt up higher so Cullen could slide his hands underneath it, his fingers gentle but firm against Dorian’s skin.

 _“Maker,_ yes,” Dorian rasped as he leaned in to press his mouth against Cullen’s mouth, absorbing the vibrations of the man’s responding moan, as his fingers found their way into blond, curly hair.

His erection was firm where it was pressed between their bodies, but more than that, so strongly that it made arousal seem insignificant, Dorian felt _alive._ So alive, so lucky to be alive.

“And what about _this?”_ Cullen fell to his knees, smirking up at Dorian as he raked up his shirt even higher and pressed an open mouth to Dorian’s abs, worshipping his stomach with his lips and with his hands.

Dorian closed his eyes against the weight of that moment, etching into his memory the feel of every hill and valley of Cullen’s hands as they wandered his skin. Maker, but he’d never had a lover touch him like that before. As if he had a body worthy of more than just shallowly spoken praise. As if he had the body of a _god_.

He rested a hand on top of Cullen's hair, wishing he could somehow bestow a blessing worthy of such adoration. Worthy of the way Cullen looked up at him, as if he weren’t a disorienting darkness but a sky-map full of stars.

When Cullen nuzzled at the front of his trousers, Dorian hummed a pleased, but lost little noise. It felt so good, Cullen's hot breath and the friction of his nose against Dorian's erection, but it was hardly about sex anymore. He couldn't escape the feeling that he was on the edge of something greater, some higher state of enlightenment from which there was no return. Something that would consume him, body and mind and soul, that would be the death of him but in the very best of ways.

  


They clung to each other after, tangled up in each other’s arms and legs, lips never far enough away to prevent an unmeditated kiss. Half-dozing, but never quite able to forget the danger that seemed might fall back down on them at any moment. Occasionally Cullen would pull back and look at him, uncertainty showing clearly on his face before he hid it again, tucking Dorian’s head back under his chin.

Dorian let this happen a few times before he finally found the courage to ask. “What are you thinking about?”

Cullen tensed for a moment, forgetting to breathe, before he finally answered. “Well, besides the obvious… Us.”

“Us?”

A rush of very unwelcome cold air hit Dorian’s skin, as Cullen pulled away to look him in the eye.“You’ll be going back to Tevinter after all of this, and I just… I’m wondering what happens to us then.”

Buying time, Dorian pulled himself up, crossing his legs and pulling the sheets over himself for a bit of modesty. “What do you wish to happen?”

Cullen sat up too, sighing as if letting go of a great burden. “I… I like you a lot. I’d be open to things being more serious between us. I know that long distance is hard. But… maybe it wouldn’t have to be forever?” he tried. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not what you want.”

Dorian chose his words carefully. “It _is_ a long way. And to stay together, in whatever form, would be a big commitment.”

Cullen frowned. “Because relationships are a big commitment?”

“Because _long distance_ is a big commitment,” Dorian amended. “And the alternatives are me moving, or you moving, which is an even _bigger_ commitment.”

“Oh, right,” Cullen said, chuckling nervously and rubbing at his neck as he looked down at the sheets. He hazarded a glance at Dorian before looking away again. “But, it’s something you’re willing to consider?”

Dorian folded his hands together, resolute not to say more than he wanted to. “I have to admit, I’d hoped to put this off until… closer to my going back,” he said, but he knew Cullen needed some kind of reassurance. “I _am_ considering it, I just… I suppose I just don’t see any point in fretting about it. I’d like to enjoy the time we have left together, without that getting in the way.”

“Yeah, me too. But I don’t want to… how do I say this…”

“Have your time wasted?”

“No, no!” Cullen scooted closer to take Dorian’s hands in his. “I don’t consider this to be a waste of time. Not at all! No matter what happens. But…” he looked down to where his thumb was brushing over Dorian’s knuckles, and the indentations left behind in the absence of his rings. “I don’t want to think it’s headed somewhere it’s not.”

“That’s completely fair,” Dorian allowed. “If the distance wasn’t a consideration, I know I would definitely want to give it a try. It’s just that…” It was just that he’d never been in a real relationship, much less a long distance one, but he didn’t want to tell Cullen _that._ “I don’t know much about these things, but --”

Just then, Cullen’s phone started ringing and buzzing where it was still in his jeans on the floor. He swore, and leapt halfway over the side of the bed to retrieve it, answering with a strained and grumpy, “Yeah.”

“Yeah, I’m still upstairs... Ugh,” Cullen scoffed, laughing under his breath as he righted himself. “Piss off, Trevelyan... I hate you,” he growled fondly, and Dorian felt his face heat up in sympathy of whatever teasing he was having to endure.

Then silence, as Cullen’s expression suddenly went serious. He looked over at Dorian, a worried crease in his brow. “Alright, yeah. Yeah I’ll be right down. No, he’ll understand. Give me just a few minutes.”

“Everything alright?” Dorian hazarded as Cullen hung up.

Cullen looked over at him, an apology in his honey colored eyes. “Milo wants to have a meeting. For Coven members only. So, you have to stay here. Sorry.”

“Oh.” Dorian shrugged it off. “Okay.”

“And I have to go, like right now. I’m _really_ sorry --”

“No, it’s no problem,” he assured Cullen. “There’s a lot going on, and you’re needed. I don’t mind.”

Cullen stood and began picking up his clothes from where they were strewn across the floor. He glanced at Dorian, still looking a bit like a kicked Mabari pup. “I hope… we can finish this conversation later.”

“Absolutely. It can keep. I’m not going anywhere just yet.”

He certainly wasn’t going anywhere as long as he got to watch Cullen dress and admire his half naked form. As the blond buttoned his jeans, a mischievous smirk found its way onto his face.

“Milo and Leliana say ‘congratulations on getting laid,’ by the way,” he told Dorian, making his jaw drop in mortified scandal.

“ _They felt that? ..._ What am I saying, of _course_ they felt that.”

“Yeah…” Cullen laughed, though he was blushing something fierce, a blush Dorian could now see went to his ears as well as down his neck. “‘Fireworks’ was the word from downstairs. Apparently.”

“Sweet Maker,” Dorian groaned unhappily. “At least we got decent reviews.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to life at Haven,” Cullen grumbled, though he didn’t seem too upset. _“Someone_ in the building probably knew this would happen before we did.”

Dorian made a disgusted noise and pulled the covers over himself, hiding underneath. “If you need me I’ll be under here, dying of embarrassment.”

Cullen laughed again, then pulled the blankets down just far enough to kiss Dorian on the top of the head, before covering him up again and leaving the room without another word.


	12. Chapter 12

 

> Types of supernatural abilities
> 
> Empath - can sense others’ emotions. dependent on distance, intensity of emotion, and relationship with the other person. catalyzed by losing a loved one. Love must be mutual. relationship must be consummated. Pair must be handfasted in the coven’s circle. Follow up with L or M.T.
> 
> Intuitive - can sense information about others they should not be able to know. Catalyzed by a disability that affects one's physical senses, usually sight. Follow up with I.B.
> 
> Clairvoyant - can sense information about events that have not happened yet, or are happening some distance away. Usually experienced as a premonition. Catalyzed by dying and being resuscitated. Very rare. Follow up with ???

  


Dorian lay in bed for a while after Cullen left. The building around him was the most unsettling kind of quiet, and though he usually enjoyed the occasional stint of solitude, Dorian found that he really didn’t want to be alone.

He finally dressed and wandered outside, to see for himself that his surroundings were still safe, at least for the moment. From the railing he could look down and see the garden, about half of which was burnt to a crisp, with a slight smoky haze still drifting in the air.

He went back inside, twiddled his thumbs for a bit. Thought about doing some notes for his thesis, but he knew that would be a useless endeavor for how preoccupied he was, after last night’s fight and this morning’s sex, and the conversation he’d had with Cullen after the sex. Finally, he decided to sneak downstairs and spend some time in the library distracting himself with a book or several.

He was curled up in a comfy chair, and halfway through _Tech Witchcraft - Magic Using the Wonders of the Modern Age_ when Trevelyan walked in, seeming to be in a slightly better mood than he had that morning.

“Ah, there you are,” he said as he took the chair next to Dorian, who closed his book to give the man his attention. His cheeks heated a bit, remembering the ‘fireworks’ comment from earlier.

“Looking for me?” he asked.

“Not anymore,” Milo joked with a subtle smirk. “I just got out of our meeting and I wanted to ask you something.”

Dorian’s eyes widened in surprise. “Sweet Maker, you’ve been meeting this whole time? It’s…” he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Well, it’s late afternoon, now.”

“We had a lot of things to discuss,” Milo explained. “And you were one of them.”

Dorian sat up a bit straighter in his chair, suddenly feeling defensive. “Oh?”

Milo leaned forward, clasping his hand together in front of him. “We still don’t know anything about who is attacking us. And if we don’t figure it out soon… we may have to leave this place for a while until we know it’s safe.”

“You’re thinking about evacuating?”

“I really hope it doesn’t come to that, but we have come to our last resort,” Milo answered. “If that doesn’t work, then we might have to.”

“And what is the last resort?”

Milo took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before replying. “At midnight, the Coven will be performing a ritual, to see if we can obtain information through magical means. This ritual will be in secret, for Coven members only,” he said, and Dorian sensed an apology in there somewhere.

“I see,” he nodded. “Are you asking me to leave?”

“No, no… quite the opposite, actually,” Milo chuckled kindly. He paused for a moment, as if unsure where to start. “You’ve been through a lot with us, and you are a talented mage. The Coven voted earlier, and it was decided to invite you to be initiated into the Coven this evening, before the ritual is performed. If you like.”

Absorbing this information, Dorian sat back further in his chair, crossing his arms. “I… certainly wasn’t expecting that.”

Milo nodded his head in understanding. “I know when you started on this journey, this is not where you intended to end up, but… this ritual involves some amount of risk, and we could use a mage of your talent,” he said cautiously. “And we would be honored to count you among our numbers.”

It certainly wasn’t how Dorian had expected things to unfold. That had been the case pretty much since he’d walked through the front door, though, so he’d sort of gotten used to it. Unlike the last spontaneous decision he had made, however, this time he was going to ask more questions. He gave Milo a scrutinizing look. “What exactly does being a member require?”

Milo seemed quite prepared to answer this question. “Initiates swear to three things,” he began, counting on as many fingers. “First, that they will keep the guidelines and secrets of the Coven.”

That sounded simple enough. “Alright.”

“Second, that you will come to our aid in times of need. That’s an oath we’ve only invoked for the first time today, so, that gives you some indication of the severity required for us to call people in,” Milo clarified.

That sounded a little less simple. “And if I was residing in Tevinter at the time?”

“If there were circumstances truly preventing you, then you would be excused,” Milo assured him. “But, in cases where arrangements _could_ be made, you’d be expected to come if at all possible.”

“I see. And the third?”

Milo hesitated here, pressing his lips together in a thoughtful line. “We have certain rituals as I mentioned. Some people take more... active roles than others,” he explained carefully. “You would be swearing your willingness to _participate_ if there was a need. Usually we take volunteers, and then we draw straws if there are none. Tonight as an initiate, you would not be required to do either. But in secret circles from then on, there would be a possibility that you would be called upon.”

A lot less simple, that. “Do these rituals involve blood magic?”

“No.” Milo shook his head vehemently. “I didn’t lie to you before. But… I can’t tell you anything else.”

Raising an eyebrow, Dorian stretched out his neck a bit, doing his best to look unaffected. “I’m sure you can understand my reluctance to swear to something without details,” he tried to negotiate.

“I do,” Milo answered gravely. “Just know that this is something we have all done before you. And we are not asking anything of you that we are not willing to do ourselves.”

“Fair enough,” Dorian conceded. He knew that he trusted these witches. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have still been living among them, helping them fight their battles. Becoming one of them suddenly made a lot of sense.

“I don’t want to rush your decision,” Milo was saying over Dorian’s thoughts. “But the sooner you can tell us… well, there are certain preparations that have to be made, and a script you'll have to be taught, and that is on top of what we already have on the agenda, so…”

“I understand,” Dorian said, but knew he wasn’t ready to say yes just yet. “Can you give me an hour?”

“I certainly can,” Milo agreed, and the two of them stood in unison. “You have technically until midnight to decide for sure. Take your time.”

  


He headed straight from there to the shop, knowing there was really only one person he would consult on the matter. Being under a time limit, and unsure of how long the conversation would take, he was in quite a hurry, and as such ran right into Rylen who was coming the opposite way.

“Oh, hey there,” the Starkhavener said. “Sorry about that.”

“No, no, it was my fault,” Dorian insisted. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Rylen studied him for a moment. “You alright?”

“What? Yes of course,” Dorian said, frowning in confusion. They’d hardly even bumped into each other after all.

“I meant about last night,” Rylen chuckled. “That fight was quite something, from what I hear.”

“Oh. Yes, it was,” Dorian answered, a little lost. “I um… I’m fine. Relatively unscathed.”

Rylen nodded, then opened his mouth and quickly shut it again. Then opened it once more. “I just wanted to say that… I didn’t give you nearly enough credit when we first met. Cullen has nothing but wonderful things to say about you, and I haven’t seen him this happy with someone… well… pretty much ever.”

Dorian nodded, accepting the pseudo-apology. “And… I’m sorry I insulted your teeth,” he admitted, only half-sarcastically.

“Yeah, that’s alright,” Rylen shrugged. “All’s forgiven then, eh?”

“Sure. Water under the bridge,” Dorian declared.

There was an awkward silence then, as the two men floundered for something to say to each other, having never really spoken before. Finally Rylen’s eyes lit up. “Oh, has anybody given you the password, yet?” he whispered conspiratorially.

Dorian leaned in. “What password?”                   

Rylen looked around as if to see if anyone was watching. “Milo spoke to you about joining the Coven, right?”

“Yes he did.”

“Did you say yes?”

“I’m still thinking about it,” Dorian told him.

“Oh,” Rylen said in surprise. “Well… if you do decide to, it’s just traditional for people to give you the password before the meeting, as a way of welcoming you into the group.”

“I see.”

“I thought I would be one of the first, you know?” Rylen explained to him. “But if you haven’t decided yet, then I better not.”

Dorian nodded in understanding. “I’ll come find you, then. Once I’ve made up my mind. How’s that?”

“Yeah sure. Alright see you then, hopefully,” Rylen said, then started wandering in the direction Dorian had come from.

  


A bit thrown by that turn of events, Dorian turned and headed into the shop, where Cullen was preparing some late day online orders with shipping labels. “There you are,” he said when he saw Dorian approaching.

“Here I am,” Dorian agreed. “I had an interesting conversation with Milo just now.”

Cullen looked up at him expectantly, and then back down at the package in front of him. “Yeah?”

“Did you vote in favor of this?” Dorian asked him.

Cullen shrugged as he smoothed down some packing tape. “The vote has to be unanimous. So I voted ‘yes,’ obviously.”

Dorian leaned in, speaking a little quieter. “So… you want me to do this?”

Cullen stilled then, regarding Dorian with a worried look. He gestured with his head for Dorian to follow him, and they headed out the front door and onto the mostly empty street. Dorian’s heart was in his throat the whole way, wondering what Cullen wanted to say to him, how this conversation might change things between them.

“I thought that you might come to me with this,” Cullen sighed, speaking just loudly enough to be heard over the breeze, his voice more gentle than Dorian could ever remember it being. Cullen reached back to squeeze at his own neck as he often did, his eyes cutting to the side. “And… I’ve been thinking about what I might say. The thing is… I just don’t want you to make this decision because of me.”

“Oh,” Dorian replied, sounding more dejected than he wanted to, because Cullen quickly jumped to amend his statement.

“I like you a lot,” he promised. “And there’s still a lot of things we need to talk about and figure out. But… joining a Coven is for life,” he reminded Dorian. “Or it’s supposed to be. And I just want you to know: you don’t have to go through with that to be with me. I’ll... think of you the same whether you’re one of us or not.”

“Right. It’s just that I have to _decide_ whether I’m going to be or not,” Dorian grumbled, his frustration directed towards no one in particular.

Cullen was silent for a moment, honey-colored eyes warm with sympathy. “I voted for what was best for the Coven,” he told Dorian finally.  “You’re a powerful mage, and you fit in well with us and share our values.” Then he stepped a little closer, gently wrapping his hand around Dorian’s elbow, a soothing and somehow intimate touch. “But… as far as what’s best for you? I can’t tell you that. That’s for you to decide.”

For that, Dorian rushed forward and kissed him, taking Cullen by surprise with an emphatic smack of lips. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

But Cullen pulled him back in, and kissed him fiercely: the kind of kiss that one might expect in films, between two characters who never hope to see each other again. It was like Cullen was putting everything he was into that kiss, as if somehow Dorian could keep it with him once they were parted, a token of affection that would never be returned.

“Are you alright?” Dorian fretted, studying Cullen closely as they broke apart.

But Cullen dropped his eyes to the ground, swallowing down some emotion that might have been anger or fear, but he was masking it too much for Dorian to tell. “I just have a lot on my mind,” was all he said.

“Can I help?” Dorian tried, reaching for Cullen’s hand. Wanting to offer the same comfort that Cullen had given him when he needed it most.

The witch sighed. “I -- I can’t really talk about it,” he answered apologetically, and all Dorian could do was nod. There was a wall between them, suddenly, one that made him just as sad as it made him curious.

“I see,” he said simply, still nodding, and then turned to go back inside. “Well… I guess I’ll see you later. Maybe.”

“Sure,” Cullen replied, though he didn’t sound very sure at all. “Wait!”

Dorian stopped and turned around, allowing Cullen to catch up with him. The witch leaned in close to his ear and murmured, “Faith and respect.”

Dorian shivered as that deep voice tickled at his spine, “What?”

“Remember those words. You might need them later,” Cullen said with a smirk as he leaned back, though he was still close enough for his warmth to shield Dorian from the chill of late the afternoon shadows. Dorian stared at him as realization dawned.

The passwords.

“Faith and respect,” Dorian whispered to commit them to memory, and with that, his decision was made.


	13. Chapter 13

 

> Preparations for dedicating oneself to a Coven
> 
> Initiate should cleanse themselves before the ceremony, in both mind, body, and soul.
> 
> Spiritual cleansing - may be achieved through incense or an egg cleansing, whichever feels most appropriate.
> 
> Body cleansing - wash thoroughly and carefully, in still water if possible. Add a little sea salt for extra purification.
> 
> Mind cleansing - for the remainder of the time until the ceremony, light a candle and meditate. Clear your mind of distraction. Invite the spirits to grant you wisdom and courage for the journey ahead.
> 
> Dress in a set of black robes and wait for your escort at the agreed-upon meeting place.

  


* * *

 

“Oh stars in heaven, hide your light. We would do our work in blackest night.”

Dorian had nothing to orient himself except a hand on his arm and the soft wind on his face. He was blindfolded and in the dark, and in an unfamiliar place besides. There was nothing for him to do but wait, and try not to forget his parts of the script.

He listened as the witches began the ceremony, calling upon the powers of their gods, of the spirits, of the elements of earth, fire, air and water. He listened as they asked for the dark to conceal them, so that no one would see them doing their craft on the roof in the middle of the city. He listened until they all went quiet, and then a commanding voice rang out from the dark.

“Who comes before the Coven assembly?”

“I do,” he answered, his voice almost failing him from being silent so long.

“What is your business with us?”

“I wish to dedicate myself to the Coven,” he answered.

“What is your name?”

“Dorian.”

Then the hand on his arm pulled him, roughly, almost dragging him forward until he was pushed to kneeling on the hard ground. Then something pointy was pressed to the front of his robes. As he’d been instructed beforehand, he gently wrapped his hand around it, his fist the only thing between the sword and his heart.

"You stand at the edge of a place that is between worlds,” Milo’s voice warned him, and indeed he could feel just beyond him a forcefield of magic that tickled at the hairs of his nose. “Between death and life, sleeping and waking, shadow and light, past and future, pain and joy. If you go any further, you embark on a path that cannot be safely turned aside before your death. You, who stand on the threshold of the Mighty Ones, feel the sharpness of the blade at your breast, and know this in your heart: that it would be better for you to throw yourself forward and spill out your life, than to enter this circle with fear or falseness in your heart.”

A moment passed where everything was silent. Dorian supposed it was his last chance to question what he was doing, his last chance to change his mind. He had lived among these people, had fought and bled beside them. And he knew he would do anything in his power to help them, even if it meant becoming one of them.

“What are your last words?" Milo demanded sternly.

"Faith and respect,” Dorian answered, and though he was blindfolded he imagined himself looking his inquisitor dead in the eyes.

The sword was pulled away, and then Dorian was helped to his feet, and led by his hands across and into the forcefield. A light and somewhat stubbly kiss was pressed to his cheek. “Thus are all first brought to the Circle,” Milo said warmly, and then led him a few steps further in. Dorian only knew from his earlier instruction that he was in the center of a ring of witches now; the entire Coven would be in attendance tonight, and all of them had their eyes on him.

“We recognize you as a friend and a worthy initiate,” Milo said, projecting his voice as if this acknowledgement was for everyone’s benefit. “Does the Council agree?”

“We do,”  answered Voraan and Adaar.

“Dorian,” Milo addressed him then. “Do you swear to uphold the secrets and codes of the Coven, those both written and unwritten, and to guard them in your heart, even under threat of death, or worse than death?”

“I swear,” Dorian replied.

“Do you swear,” Voraan then asked, “if you are able, to come to the aid of the Coven or its members whenever called, to defend and protect us with whatever power you possess?”

“I swear.”

“Do you swear to join us in the Secret Circle,” Adaar chimed in, “and give yourself over in body and mind to our rituals, if you are called upon to do so by the Council of Three?”

“I swear.”

“Dorian, I declare you an initiate of the Haven Coven,” Milo stated, as he came forward to remove Dorian’s blindfold. “Your name will be written upon our hearts. Your secrets will be our secrets. Your enemies will be our enemies. Your triumphs will be our triumphs. Your friends, our friends.”

As Dorian blinked to adjust his eyes to the almost-darkness, three others stepped forward to greet him, Cullen holding up a black cloak matching the one he wore himself. They exchanged smiles, and then Dorian lifted his arms to allow Cullen to put it on him. Then Josephine stepped forward with a tall pointed hat that had a crown of dark roses wrapped around the brim, and he bent his knees and bowed so she could place it on his head. Then Leliana came forward to return his staff, and helped him sling it over his back.

“I present to you our new brother, Dorian,” Milo announced, and all of the witches answered with a chorus of welcomes. “You may now take your place in the Circle, initiate,” Milo said, and gestured to a space in between Cullen and Josephine.

Dorian took his first chance to look around the Circle. Everyone was dressed in black as he was, some with the hat like he wore and some with a simple hood. He recognized most everyone: Krem, Bull, Rylen, and even Vivienne, the bartender from the club.

“Tonight, we assemble to perform the Black Ritual,” Milo said to the group. “The most grave of the circle rituals we have at our disposal. We face a powerful and unknown enemy, and in invoking the Black Ritual we hope to gain knowledge from beyond the reaches of this world to learn how to stop them.”

“One member of the assembly will act as a sacrifice,” Milo explained. “By allowing themselves to be possessed by a benign spirit, in exchange for the information we seek.”

Dorian’s heart leapt in his chest. Possession? He certainly would have liked to know about this before he swore his oaths.

Milo looked right at him before continuing. “Safety measures will be taken to ensure the possession can be completely reversed,” he assured everyone. “If complications arise, three others will be chosen to enter the Fade using lyrium, and ensure the sacrifice is freed. The rest of the assembly is asked to stand vigil should the worst happen.”

Dorian was caught between being angry and being entirely relieved that he was there. Should the worst happen. At least this way he would be able to help them if this outrageous plan blew up in their faces.

“Are there any questions?” Milo offered, and he immediately raised his hand. “Dorian?”

“Is it really wise to attempt this, considering the nature of the attack we just faced?” he pointed out.

Milo acknowledge the question with a solemn nod, his eyes hidden underneath his hat. “The Council has discussed that, and deemed it a necessary risk,” he said with a kind of authority that was separated from emotion. “We are also using all the precautionary measures at our disposal.”

“Has the assembly done this before? _Successfully?”_ Dorian pressed.

“Yes,” Milo answered. “Any other questions?”

Dorian didn’t say anything else. He was basically along for the ride now, he had been assured he wouldn’t be required to participate, and so he supposed he would just observe and learn. He had read of course of old traditions that involved spirits and people having closer relationships, such as among the Avvar, but he had no idea those types of practices were alive today.

“The ritual requires a sacrifice,” Milo recited. “Do we have a volunteer?”

There was a tense silence. Dorian looked around the circle, his stomach tightening, wondering which of his new friends it would be.

Then Cullen took a step forward. “I volunteer,” he declared.  

Dorian’s heart plummeted into his stomach. This couldn’t be happening. He was frozen with dread, and it would seem he wasn’t the only one. For a moment that unfolded like molasses, no one moved, watching Cullen with wide eyes until Milo finally cleared his throat.

“Very well, come and kneel before me,” he instructed with a beckoning gesture. “We also need three volunteers to enter the Fade if something goes wrong.”

Oh, fuck it.  “I volunteer.” Dorian said quickly, trembling before he could change his mind, daring anyone to challenge him, because they’d promised he wouldn’t be _required_ to participate but no one had said he _couldn’t._ And no, Cullen did _not_ get to whip around and look at him like that -- he thought, glaring -- this was all his fault, and he was going to get an earful from Dorian as soon as they were out of this mess.

Voraan and Josephine also stepped forward, and the three of them knelt in a triangle around Cullen. “The four of you should meditate and gather as much energy to yourselves as you can,” Milo advised them. “Assembly, lend your hands and your energy to the Sacrifice and his Attendants.”

Dorian watched as those in the Circle around him joined hands, pinning him with concerned eyes before closing them and concentrating hard.

He wasn’t sure if he could convey just how angry and worried he was by grabbing Cullen’s hand and refusing to let go, but dammit, he was sure going to try. Cullen didn’t really seem to mind, squeezing back for a few long moments, which was just as annoying as it was assuring.

Feeling a set of eyes still on him, Dorian looked over at Milo, who was looking at this brazen display of affection with a barely-contained smile.

Then he and Adaar went to work, drawing protection runes both on the ground around the participants and on their foreheads. Adaar weaved a cuff of rope around each of their wrists. A cloud of incense came from somewhere. It was clear they were taking every precaution, just as they’d promised, and it might have made Dorian feel better if one of those precautions wasn’t  binding Cullen's wrists.

Everything went quiet again as Milo knelt, and took Cullen’s head into his hands, making sure the other man was looking into his eyes. Reading him. “Holding hands in the secret circle means you're married now,” he whispered, making Dorian’s heart skip a beat. “Just kidding! Mostly kidding.”

“I hate you so much right now,” Cullen hissed back, but they shared an airy chuckle, and Cullen just held on tighter and didn’t let go.

“I’m going to be right here the whole time,” Milo promised. “We’re all here with you. Okay? You're gonna be fine. You’re in there for information about the attacker. Don’t let yourself be tempted with anything else.”

“Right.” Cullen agreed, and then he was given a simple sleeping potion which quickly had him going limp, his grip on Dorian’s hand softening. He only remained upright now because Milo’s was holding him up, waiting… watching...

 

The next few hours were nervewracking. Dorian was glad it was dark so no one could see how badly he was shaking. He knew some of the others could probably sense it, so he did his best to breathe and calm himself, the vial of lyrium clutched tightly in his hand until his joints locked up.

There were so many other questions he wished he could have asked. Had this been the plan all along? For Cullen to be the … Sacrifice? Was that why he had been acting so strange earlier when they'd spoken? Had someone convinced him to do this, or was it his own idea?

Dorian prayed that he would have a chance to speak to the man again and find out.

The presence of the spirit was finally announced by a loud inhalation coming from Cullen’s mouth, his skin suddenly glowing with cracks of light. It was almost peaceful, more peaceful than Dorian had anticipated a possession to be.

“Welcome, spirit,” Milo said quietly. “Please tell us your name.”

“I am Vigor,” came the enthusiastic answer from Cullen’s mouth, deeper and more resonant than the man’s voice already was.

“Welcome, Vigor,” Milo stated, still holding Cullen’s head in his hands. “We asked you here so we might seek your guidance. We have been victims of a terrible wrong. Our home is threatened. We need to know who attacked us and how to stop them.”

The spirit was silent for a moment, tilting his head as he seemed to consider Milo and his request. “Yes. Yes! I know of what you speak,” Vigor said eagerly at last. “What happened was very sad, very bad, I will help you!”

“Can you tell us who did this, and how to stop them? Please?” Milo pressed, having not gotten an answer to his original question.

“Hmm,” Vigor hummed thoughtfully. “He hides his true name from our realm. He is a human, a powerful mage from the Old Empire.”

“Tevinter?” Milo demanded.

“Yes! That's the one. He stalks the Fade even now. Old things whisper to him and promise him power, but lead him towards destruct --”

Vigor’s words were choked off and suddenly Cullen's body seized up, writhing and resisting his restraints.

“Cullen!” Dorian cried, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. A weak noise began to drone out of Cullen’s mouth, reminding Dorian of dreams where he tried to scream but his vocal chords wouldn’t work, and over that quiet, horrifying sound, Milo began reciting some kind of chant.

Shit.

“Kaffas, don’t do this to me, Cullen,” Dorian pleaded through gritted teeth, watching helplessly as Cullen continued to fight. Around him the other witches had picked up the chant, speaking it as one voice.

Then Cullen stilled, but the witches kept chanting, so loud that the dark laughter coming from the blond was barely audible. Dorian ripped away his hand as if burned as a more sinister voice came out of Cullen’s mouth. “Foolish.”

Dorian’s veins turned to ice. Cullen wasn’t even glowing anymore. He didn’t have any idea what that meant, but it couldn’t have been anything good.

“You toy with forces that you do not understand,” the voice said, as the witches lost their place in the chant, slowly falling silent one by one. “You are unworthy! Unworthy of the gifts you squander!”

“Leave, demon,” Milo growled. “You are bound and powerless here. Whatever your purpose is, you will not fulfill it in this body!”

An evil laugh that made Dorian’s stomach want to hurl. “I am no demon. I am an instrument of the gods’ righteous fury! You will all perish! You will all be crushed under the Imperium’s heel!”

“Wait a minute,” Dorian murmured. “I know that voice.”

The thing inside Cullen turned to look right at him, scowling in intense displeasure. “Enchanter Dorian Pavus,” he grumbled.

“Professor Corypheus Amladaris,” Dorian addressed him with as much false cheer as he could muster when his least favorite person was in the body of his most favorite person. “How kind of you to drop in. I must say though, it is terrible manners even by Fereldan standards to crash a party uninvited.”

Cullen’s eyes wandered over him, taking in the sight of his clothes. “You cast your lot in with them?!” Amladaris grimaced at him, eyes wild with anger. “And here I thought you could insult your heritage no furth-- aack!”

The words were cut off as Milo lunged forward and clapped his hands over Cullen’s ears, looking at Dorian with frantic eyes. “You know this man?”

“Yes, he’s my thesis advisor.”

 _“Swear_ to me that you are not in league with him!” Milo demanded, voice raised.

“I swear it,” Dorian answered. “On my life, I swear I knew nothing about it.”

Milo accepted this with an efficient nod. “Then the three of you need to get in there now,” he ordered. “I’ll try to distract him so he doesn’t know you’re coming.”

Dorian nodded shakily, wasting no time as he pulled the stopper out of the vial of lyrium and knocked it back, seeing Voraan and Josephine do the same out of the corner of his eye. It hit him fast, and he quickly lay himself down, a moment before he would have hit the floor unconscious.

 

* * *

 

It took Dorian a moment to orient himself, blinking his eyes a few times as if that would clear up the view before him. Alas, it wasn’t his vision that was the problem, he remembered, things just rippled and warped and went out of focus as they damn well pleased in the Fade.

“Where are we?” asked Josephine, who had appeared beside him. Well thank the Maker for small mercies.

The two of them stood under a long covered pathway, held up by brick columns that led to a set of double doors.

“This is probably Cullen’s dream. I don’t recognize the place.”

“We have to find him. Where is Voraan?”

“I’m not sure,” Dorian answered. “And I’m not sure we can afford to wait around for him.”

Suddenly, a shrill bell rang from somewhere above their heads, and if Dorian had been in the waking world he probably would have jumped out of his skin. As it was, it just rattled his bones a bit, as he heard a familiar voice swear.

“Shit, I’m late!” Voraan declared. “Come on guys, that was the tardy bell, we’re late!” then he grabbed at his back, his face falling even further as he realized nothing was there except a wooden staff. “Oh, Creators, I forgot my books! And my work uniform! And mamae wanted me to go shopping on the way home and I didn’t bring the money she gave me and --”

“Voraan,” Josephine soothed, although she was a little amused, as was Dorian. “You don’t even go here. This is a dream, remember? We’re here to find Cullen.”

Voraan looked at them curiously. “Cullen?” Then he seemed to snap out of it. “Oh…” he said with an embarrassed chuckle.

“Happens to the best of us,” Dorian told the blushing elf. “But we need to get going.”

“I guess we’re at a school?” Josephine asked as they approached the doors.

“I guess so,” Voraan answered. “Maybe this is where Cullen went to school when he was a kid.”

“I hope we can find him quickly,” Josephine fretted.

The walkway seemed infinite one moment, and then the next moment they had reached the door. No telling how much time had really passed. Dorian put his hands on both handles and looked back at his companions. “Let’s try not to draw attention to ourselves, shall we?” he said, before pulling them open.

Another long hallway lay before them, and some distance away, Dorian could barely make out three figures, huddled up together and speaking in hushed whispers.

“On your guard,” Dorian whispered, and slowly started his approach, staff on his back, but he held out his hand, ready to reach for it at any moment.

The spirits noticed them as they approached, looking a bit skittish in their forms as three teenage girls. Dorian willed himself to not be fooled by their doe-eyed innocence, and hope the others would know to do the same.

“Hello,” he called out to them. “We were wondering if you had seen a friend of ours. Tall, handsome, blond curly hair.”

“You’re here for Cullen,” a girl with dark brown hair said to him, in a voice far wiser than her visible years.

“Yes we are,” Dorian answered. “Can you take us to him?”

“Why?” a redheaded girl asked, drawing herself up taller as she studied him suspiciously.

“He’s in trouble and needs our help.”

“He’s in the principal’s office,” the brunette one said. “We want to help, but we can’t. The magister killed Vigor. He would kill us, too.”

Dorian’s brows shot up. “You knew Vigor?”

“We help Cullen,” the redhead explained. “We help him clean things. We help him fight. But we can’t help him now.”

“We’ll help him,” Voraan promised from Dorian’s side.

“It’s that way. You need to hurry,” the third, a small elven girl, said.

“Thank you,” Dorian said to them, as he and the two witches rushed in the direction indicated. “Come on, Cullen, hang in there,” he said under his breath.

“Do you hear that?” Voraan whispered suddenly.

Dorian stopped to listen. A woman’s angry, lecturing tone echoed through the space. “Neither of the people we’re looking for are female,” he reminded himself as well as his comrades. “Should we risk it?”

Josephine shrugged. “We don’t have much else to go on.”

“The spirits back there could have been lying to us,” Voraan pointed out.

“There’s only one way to rule it out, I suppose,” Dorian sighed. “Besides, this is Cullen’s dream, so any activity is probably a good sign.”

The three of them continued on, until they saw a door that was slightly ajar up ahead. The woman’s voice got louder and more grating with each step. Dorian didn’t know who she was, but he hated her already.

Underneath her voice was an unsettling sound that reminded Dorian of a slowly rotating food disposal. He shivered as he finally made it to the door.

“There’s another door on the other side,” Josephine whispered, peering through a window that looked into the office. “Maybe I could go around and surprise them.”

“Splitting up is a risky move,” Voraan protested.

“This whole bloody thing is risky,” Dorian snapped, then quickly recovered. “My apologies. It’s been a very stressful twenty-four hours.”

Josephine put a comforting hand on his arm. “For all of us,” she said gently. “But I have a plan. Do you trust me to do this?”

“Tell me your plan, first,” Dorian insisted.

“I go around. Voraan waits outside for your word. You cause a distraction, and I will ensnare our foe and hinder them from fighting you. Then Voraan jumps out and you both attack.”

“Alright, that’s as solid a plan as any,” Dorian agreed with a one-shouldered shrug. “Go then. And be careful.”

Before Josephine even disappeared out of sight, Dorian pushed the door open, listening carefully to the angry woman’s diatribe.

“Cullen Rutherford, what were you thinking? This indecency is a disgrace to the esteemed purpose of a learning institution. Not to mention, a distraction to the students.”

And there Cullen was, looking right at him, and smiling. Dressed in only his underpants and two mismatched shoes. “Oh, hello there,” he said, as if he wasn't getting dressed down in more ways than one.

A trick, then. Surely.

“Hello,” Dorian answered tentatively, as a very stern looking blonde woman whipped around to look at him.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “How dare you just barge into my office!”

“I’m Cullen’s father,” Dorian lied quickly, and barely kept a straight face when Cullen blanched. “I heard that there was some kind of discipline problem and I came to retrieve him and take him home.”

The woman squinted suspiciously at him, even as her eyes tried to bore two holes in Dorian’s skull.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Dorian said to her, stepping forward and offering his hand. “Who might you be?”

“This is Principal Stannard,” Cullen answered, as the woman was still fuming out her ears. “The woman who made my years at high school a living nightmare.”

“Silence!” Miss Stannard barked.

“Honestly, son, I am so very disappointed,” Dorian continued. Cullen, for his part looked like he was ready to burst into laughter, or tears, or both. “I mean, if you’re going to come to school mostly naked, you could at least wear something more fashionable than tightey whiteys.”

“Of course, I see the error of my ways now,” Cullen said dramatically.

“I demand --!”

“Oh, shut up, Stannard,” Cullen interrupted, and she squawked, jaw hanging open. As he turned back to Dorian, it was like she was so angered that she forgot how to exist, and thus disappeared into thin air. “I always wanted to say that. So, are you here to rescue me?”

“I … where is Corypheus?” Dorian demanded.

Cullen gestured with his head to a door that led to an inner room. “He’s using the PA system to speak through my head.”

“Lovely.”

“Oh yes. I can hear him in here.” Cullen tapped on his skull. “He’s a right looney, that one.”

“Indeed he is… but you’re ... alright?”

“Sure, I’m fine.” Cullen shrugged. “I’m… sort of used to this type of thing.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “How do I know you’re really you?”

Cullen considered this for a moment. “You can’t. I’m really only partially me, anyway.”

“Only partially?”

“Yeah. All of this is me,” he said, gesturing to the space around them.

“So I'm inside you?”

Cullen spluttered. “Pay attention,” he chided. “This is the part of me that’s my personality. The part of me that has free will and would fight him? Is trapped in there with him.”

“I see,” Dorian replied, twirling his mustache in thought.

“Psst, Dorian,” came a whisper from the door he’d come through. “Are we sticking to the plan?” Voraan asked.

“Yeah, just a moment,” he whispered back, then addressed Cullen, or part of Cullen. “Josie and Voraan are here, we’re gonna get you out.”

Cullen’s expression fell. “You shouldn’t have told me that,” he said gravely, and Dorian’s veins turned to ice.

“Why not?”

From behind the door, a large banging sound was heard, making them both flinch.

“He knows you’re here, now. Sorry, he can sort of see into my thoughts.”

“Well then why didn’t he figure it out earlier when I came in?!” Dorian hissed at him.

“Because I’ve been thinking of you the whole time,” Cullen answered smugly as the door flew open and Corypheus rushed into the room.

“You.” The old man pointed a finger at Dorian. “You would foil my work here when you should be joining me.”

“And what does that work entail, exactly?” Dorian inquired. Get the professor talking, everybody knows how they like the sound of their own voice.

“These _witches_ you consort with,” Corypheus practically spat the words. “They are fools and heretics! They call upon the Old Gods for favor, but all they have done is raised the Dragons’ ire.”

“The Dragons’ ire?! What _ever_ are you talking about?” Dorian scolded in his own teacher voice, as if he were speaking to an errant child.

“There are those of us that still worship the Dragons, in secret. Awaiting their glorious return and the rebirth of the Imperium.” Corypheus’s gaze followed Dorian as he slowly circled the room, trying to trick the other man into turning his back on the other door. It was working; he could only hope Josephine was behind it. “I prayed and asked for direction, and the Old Gods spoke to me. They say the witches are unworthy supplicants who call upon the power of something they could never hope to understand. They must be punished.”

“So…. the Old Gods don’t like it when people believe in them. Fascinating,” Dorian quipped with biting sarcasm as he slowly drew his staff into his hand.

“They may _believe,_ but they do not _comprehend._ They do not heed the call or the will of the Dragons,” Corypheus sneered. “They ask and ask for power and never give anything in return. They never pay the required price.”

Dorian didn’t dare look as the door behind Corypheus slowly and silently opened. As the magister pontificated, a dozen flowery vines began to grow out of the ground and tangle around his feet.

Old buzzard didn’t even notice.

“So this is why you ranted about them so much,” Dorian realized. “You know it was _that_ that led me here. That’s the reason why I’m standing in your way right now. Funny old world, isn’t it?” he taunted the professor.

“The more that stand in my way, the greater my glory. The Dragons require a sacrifice of blood. I am here to _collect!”_ Corypheus tried to raise his fist to emphasize his declaration, but found his arm was stuck, wrapped in a rapidly increasing number of vines, and he was distracted with bewilderment for a moment before he shouted in rage.

“Now!” Dorian cried to be heard over him, and threw his staff forward, aiming it right at the old man’s head before he took his first shot, fueling his magic with all his rage and frustration on Cullen’s behalf. More magic flew at Corypheus from behind him, and the opposite door flew open to reveal Josephine, her hands already lifting steadily as she drew upon the the Fade.

With his free hand, Corypheus began to cast, barely getting the spell off before Josephine’s vines had spread even further, immobilizing him completely. But he had resummoned the spectre of Principal Stannard again, and this time she had armor and a sword.

“Finish them,” he commanded, and then before the bastard disappeared, he flicked his head to throw a last cheap shot at Cullen, who dropped instantly to the ground.

“Kaffas! Cullen,” Dorian shouted, but he couldn’t run to the man’s side when there was a mean-looking blonde knight charging his way. He raised his staff to parry her sword’s swing just in time. “Could use some help here, Josie,” he complained.

“She’s incorporeal, I can’t hold her down!”

“Then look after Cullen,” Voraan suggested to her, as he and Dorian volleyed more magic at Stannard.

The principal-knight reached her arm towards a filing cabinet, and the next moment it was flying towards Dorian’s head. “Watch out!” Voraan shouted, and pushed both of their bodies out of the way.

“Thanks,” Dorian said to him, as they both struggled to get back to their feet. He quickly turned his attention back to their assailant. “That’s a neat trick,” he jeered sourly.

“You would fight for Rutherford?” Stannard spat out. “He’s nothing but a washout. A failure.”

Dorian frowned, but shot more magic from his staff, which was reflected by the shield in her hand. “He graduated, didn’t he?”

“He came back.” Stannard lunged at him, trying to strike him with a downward swing but he twisted away. “Tried his hand at _teaching,”_ she said with another forceful swing. “He made it through one year, and then he _quit.”_

Well that explained it, Dorian thought. Cullen had seemed a bit reluctant to speak of his dream of being a teacher, and now Dorian understood why.

“Because of you,” Josephine said from where she was kneeling next to Cullen on the floor. “He quit because of _you.”_

Stannard turned toward her, looking incensed. “How dare you blame his incompetence on me? He had no _discipline_ in his classroom -- ow!” she yelped as Dorian got in a good strike with his staff.

“That’s it, keep it up,” he encouraged, hoping his comrades would get his meaning. She was already turning back to face him, shield up and determination in her eyes. “I knew I didn't like you,” he told Stannard.

“I'm in charge,” she hissed back. “None of you have to like me!”

“You’re like, the worst principal ever,” Voraan said dryly. And just as Dorian suspected, she once again let her guard down.

“You will address me with the proper respect! Ah!” she cried as Dorian jabbed her in the ribs.

She took a wild swing in Dorian's direction, which grazed his shoulder, filling his arm with stinging pain.

He ignored it, focusing all his energy on finishing the fight, coming at her with a flurry of attacks from his staff that put her on the defensive. “You know, you're quite agile for a two hundred year old,” he commented dryly.

“This is outrageous conduct!” she bellowed, but allowed herself to be distracted once again. From behind Dorian, Voraan shot a blast of powerful lightning at her, which nearly knocked her off her feet, as once again she forgot how to be untouchable. Dorian threw all his strength into jabbing her in the middle, and fought not to feel bad as she fell to her knees, wailing in agony, and then slowly faded away into nothingness.

“How's Cullen --” he asked quickly, but when he turned his head the whole room had gone black. “Josie!” he called out, with such force that he jolted himself awake.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm posting 2 chapters at once, so make sure you don't miss anything!   
> only one more chapter to go after this! can you believe it i might actually finish this thing.  
> again sorry if anything is sloppy.

Dorian woke up fighting, flailing blindly before his senses finally came online and he sat up from where he’d been laid in someone’s lap. He didn't bother to see who. None of that mattered. He had to get to Cullen.

He crawled on his knees to where Milo was still holding Cullen in place, studying him closely and looking more worried by the second. “What did you learn?” Milo asked without taking his eyes off the unconscious blond.

“He says the Old Gods are angry that your people pray to them without giving the proper sacrifices. He says he’s here to collect. How is he?” Dorian demanded in return for his information.

“I’m… not sure… he’s quiet,” Milo admitted, barely glancing at Dorian. Nearby, he could see by the pale dawn light as Josephine and Voraan slowly began to come awake as well. Maker, how long had they been out that the sun was now close to rising? “What happened to him in there?”

“Corypheus hit him with some kind of spell. His dream form was knocked unconscious. Or at least part of him,” Dorian answered, his whole body shaking as if from a feverish chill. He watched helplessly as Cullen went even more still in Milo’s grip.

“Fuck,” Milo muttered, bringing a hand up to Cullen’s neck to check his pulse. At the same time, Dorian felt the Veil weaken around them, and then there was a wave of something like vertigo, his entire awareness doing a somersault in his head. An odd sensation bloomed into understanding in his mind, and suddenly he could  _ feel _ Milo’s worry, could  _ see _ him panicking even when he closed his eyes. Could sense spirits pressing against the Veil nearby, trying to push through. 

“He’s not breathing. Vivienne!” Milo shouted, and the woman quickly left her place in the circle and came to them as Milo laid Cullen out on the ground. 

“Kaffas, Cullen don’t do this to me,” Dorian pleaded with him, watching as Vivienne put a hand on the blond’s heart, and  _ feeling _ when she slowly began to lose hope, even as she started casting a healing spell. “Please don’t leave me like this.”

Then there was a sensation like being tugged at, and Dorian and Milo’s eyes met. The longer Milo looked at him, the more hurt Dorian could feel radiating off the witch in stabbing pulses, and the more it made him hurt in return. “You’re --” Milo started, but didn’t manage any more words.

“I’m sorry,” Vivenne said to them quietly, oblivious to the secondary crisis they were having. “He’s --”

“No.” Milo’s tone brooked no argument. “As you speak it, so it shall become. He will live. Give him the potion,” he told her and she reluctantly pulled it out of her robes. Dorian watched as the two of them carefully force fed the concoction to Cullen, but even after that he didn’t stir.

It was then that Corypheus decided to show his face. Out of nowhere the magister floated onto the roof, landing right in Dorian’s line of sight, and suddenly Dorian’s blood went aflame.

Grabbing for his staff, he stood and marched toward Corypheus, not even bothering with words before he aimed recklessly and fired. Corypheus deflected it, the bastard, so Dorian shot three more bolts from varying angles, and all of those were absorbed into an invisible barrier.

“You know why I chose them?” Dorian shouted at him, the two of them circling around each other warily. “Why I would  _ still _ side with them, over you?”

“Enlighten me,” the magister replied, in a gravelly, uninterested tone.

“Because here, they don’t stab people in the back,” Dorian spat at him, volleying another bolt of energy from his staff. Corypheus only flinched. “They’re not so afraid of losing power that they have to destroy those that would compete. They don’t  _ kill good men _ for no bloody good reason!” he howled, voice cracking with grief. “They  _ help _ each other, they encourage each other, they tell each other that  _ anything is possible _ , and they’re stronger for it.”

“They will still perish,” Corypheus promised. “Once I have taught you a lesson, foolish boy.”

Dorian could sense Leliana nearby, somehow, though she must have been stealthing herself from their enemy’s view, slowly creeping up on him. He just had to keep distracting Corypheus, and perhaps she could get a hit in. He could feel the others behind him, casting protective magics to guard him from any attacks his foe might attempt. “Come on then,” he taunted with a flourish of his staff. “These witches have taught me more than you ever did.”

Corypheus narrowed his eyes, fixing Dorian with a steely glare, before he grabbed the staff off his back and in one motion fired a powerful spell at Leliana. It knocked her out of stealth and Dorian watched helplessly as she was thrown right over the side of the building. 

“No,” Dorian muttered, heart shattering in his chest.

Through his grief he began winding up his most powerful spell, trying to ground himself in his own power as his fallen friend had taught him. “You will pay, Corypheus!” he shouted, and blasted a cloud of death at him with all his might.

The magister blinked out of sight at the last moment, dodging Dorian’s spell and reappearing on another part of the roof, and it was then, as he shielded himself from Corypheus's first attack of fire, that Dorian almost gave in to his despair.

Then, in the pale light of dawn, he noticed a large black raven fluttering its wings as it landed on the roof across from Corypheus. In the blink of an eye, that raven turned into Leliana, and she smiled wickedly as she saw the shock on the faces of both friend and foe. Then she shifted again, and a whole flock of ravens dispersed into the air and swarmed onto the magister’s head.

“Gah!” Corypheus shouted, shielding himself with his hands as the birds attacked him with the ferocity of a storm. Hope renewed, Dorian smiled a bit, and to add insult to injury, used his death magic to send spirits into some nearby leaves that were just barely hanging onto a tree. They too, took shape, and joined the assault on Corypheus in the form of tiny bats.

He turned to the rest of the witches then. 

“That won’t hold him for long, we need a plan!” Adaar shouted to him.

Dorian jogged over, refusing to look at where Milo and Vivienne were still sitting vigil with Cullen’s body. Behind Adaar, the witches were still concentrating on surrounding everyone with a barrier of protection. “I know… I couldn't seem to get a hit in.”

“We'll just wear ourselves down if he's going to dodge all our attacks,” Voraan pointed out.  “Perhaps we could use time magic,” Dorian suggested.

Adaar frowned. “I don’t have any of my sigils with me,” she reminded Dorian. 

“I know, but…” Dorian looked around, looked at the circle of witches holding hands, looked back at Corypheus, who was trying to teleport away from the birds with little success, and suddenly got an idea. “Alright, what if we used  _ people _ to make the sigil?” he asked excitedly.

Adaar looked at him like he’d lost his mind.  _ “People?” _

“People to represent the letters, instead of knots,” he pressed, grabbing onto Adaar’s arm. “The circle will be the hoop!”

Adaar’s eyes grew wider, and Dorian could  _ feel _ as the Vashoth began to fill with excitement. “Fuck, that’s brilliant,” she said, and then turned to the others. “Okay, everybody stand where I put you!” she shouted to them, and then gestured quickly to Dorian, positioning him in place of the first knot. “You’re the letter T,” he said, and then moved on to position the next witch. 

Taking his place, he looked back to Corypheus, who was boiling over with anger that pinged in Dorian’s awareness even from across the roof. Leliana’s birds and his bats were still whipping around him like a tornado, flying up and swooping back down on his old, grey head. But most of the bats were on fire now, and it looked like the birds were taking heavy damage too. “Quickly!” Dorian called out, listening as Adaar put the other witches in position, instructing some of them to clasp their arms together. 

Dorian needed to communicate with Leliana somehow, tell her to get out of the way for when they unloaded on Corypheus. He had another half-baked idea for that part, he just hoped it would actually work… 

“Alright, all set. What now?” Adaar called to him, and Dorian reached a hand out, focusing his emotional energy on pulling at Leliana to come back to him. It took a moment, but sure enough, the flock of birds lifted away from Corypheus and twisted back towards their circle. 

Dorian drew up his mana, and cast a haste spell over the area covered by the circle. Sure enough, he could feel it interact with the sigil the witches were making, and time seemed to stop around them, the flapping of birds’ wings coming to a complete halt in mid-air.

“Alright, everyone unload on him with everything you’ve got!” Dorian shouted, and the witches did just that. A blast of lightning whizzed past his head. Other projectiles of fire and ice, and even stone. Dorian held out his hands, splaying his fingers as he cast the curse that would turn Corypheus into a walking bomb.

He waited, slowly feeling the magister’s life force drain away until at last his haste spell faded, Leliana’s birds becoming a flurry of wings once again. Then Dorian detonated his curse as the world around them sprang back to life and Leliana landed gracefully back in her human form. 

Corypheus let out an agonized cry, lost his footing, and fell to one knee. Dorian watched with bated breath for their opponent to fall, but the moment never came.

The witches murmured around Dorian in disbelief. How was the old buzzard still alive? “Can we do it again?”  Adaar asked, but Dorian felt almost too dizzy with panic enough for ten people, to answer. 

As he wracked his brain for more ideas, Corypheus knocked the end of his staff into the ground, once, twice, three times, the wooden impact of it ringing into the still air.

Then a shriek in the distance, shrill and loud, though it was coming from high above them in the clouds.

“Shit,” Iron Bull said. 

“What is it chief?” Krem answered.

“Motherfucker’s got a dragon,” Bull announced, sulkily as if he were jealous. 

In the next moment, the dragon landed on the roof in a huge blast of air as its enormous wings flapped in agitation. A juvenile, although it was still irritatingly impressive for Corypheus to have commanded such a creature. It was just big enough to take up about half of the roof.

“The Dragons shall feast upon your bones!” Corypheus cried out, still crouching behind his scaly ally. 

“Voraan, you and me on the old guy. Everybody else, focus on the dragon!” Adaar called, and the witches began to scatter, some of them rushing towards the beast to attack it in melee, some of them rushing to get out of its way. It charged right at Dorian, and he tried to slow it with another haste spell, which failed spectacularly, so he just fade stepped to another part of the roof.

Disoriented for a moment, he braced himself against the dizziness. He was starting to feel the exhaustion down in his bones. As the battle raged on around him, he hazarded a glance over to Milo and Vivienne, who were standing now and guarding Cullen’s lifeless body, though he looked so peaceful that he could well be sleeping. 

_ Sleeping _ .

The sun was about to rise. 

He didn’t have much time.

He ran over to the three of them, earning curious looks from the two witches as he knelt beside the blond. “I just need a moment,” he told them, and then bent down to look at Cullen’s face.

He had no candles, no storybook that would teach a man how to be a man again. This was different, way different than a spirit possessing a doll. This was a  _ person _ , he reminded himself, but it would work if he believed that it would, and if not, he would get to say goodbye before being eaten by Corypheus’s pet.

He bent down and pressed a kiss to Cullen’s brow, trying not to think about how cold he felt. How long it had been since he breathed.

“Rest well, amatus,” he whispered, and ran soft fingers through Cullen’s hair. 

At that very moment, the sun peaked over the horizon, streaming blinding light on the battlefield around him. And then that light was eclipsed as Cullen’s eyes opened, and they were two pure white, blinding orbs. 

Paralyzed by dread of what he had just done, Dorian watched as Cullen lifted his head, then sat up without saying a word. He surveyed the situation around them, and then lifted up on his feet.

“What the fuck?!” Milo yelped as he turned and saw what was happening. Dorian scrambled up as well, on alert for any sign of hostility as Cullen raised his arms and was surrounded by light, which took form around him as a set of knight’s armor and a sword and shield. 

As if that wasn’t enough, more spirit energy flowed out of Cullen, taking shape as three ferocious lions, and with the animals following, Cullen took off, charging at the dragon currently breathing fire at his friends.

“My dear, what did you do?” Vivienne demanded, looking at Dorian with one eyebrow raised in severe admonishment. 

“He was just sleeping,” Dorian shrugged, and the three of them watched as his literal knight in shining armor went toe to toe with the beast like something out of legend, lions circling the dragon like it was prey.

“Alright, well, let’s not let them have all the fun,” Milo suggested, drawing his own weapon, and the three of them dispersed. After surveying the field, Dorian rushed over to where Voraan and Adaar were still scrapping with Corypheus, and looking rather worse for the wear.

“Fucker won’t die,” Adaar told him in a strained voice, as Dorian approached and cast a barrier over himself and the two Council members. “Why won't you die?!” he shouted.

“I am a champion of the Dragons’ blood!” Corypheus boasted, as he shot some sort of laser beam at Voraan, which ate through Dorian’s barrier and grazed the elf’s side before he managed to get away from it. “The gods will sustain me!”

“The fuck does that mean?” Adaar muttered. 

“Oh, nothing, it just means that he’s been imbibing dragon’s blood to make himself more powerful,” Dorian replied. “And, oh small detail, it also makes you go insane!” he taunted at the magister.

Behind them, the dragon wailed, and Dorian turned to see it in its death throes, getting its throat ripped out by the white spirit lions, with Cullen's shining sword plunging deep into its heart as the other witches fired a barrage of spells. Dorian smiled victoriously, filled with a mixture of swelling pride and utter relief. 

“Dorian, watch out!”

Before he could react, Corypheus teleported in front of him, blocking his view, and the next moment, an excruciating pain shot through his middle. Stunned, he looked up at the magister, and then down to where the man had stabbed him with a knife. 

“The Dragons demand the witches’ blood,” Corypheus told him through gritted teeth, and caught his weight when Dorian stumbled unable to stand on his own against the pain.  The magister held him upright with a surprisingly strong grip, blood rushing out onto his hand that held the knife in place. A sound like a barrelling train rushed through Dorian’s ears. “Yours will give me the strength to collect it.”

“Fuck you,” Dorian spat at him, and then cried in agony as the scars on his arm began to burn. Corypheus was drawing the power out of his blood, the very life out of him, but it wasn't the first time someone had tried that, and he was far past being crippled by his fear.

He grabbed the hand that held the knife inside him, and focused the last of his mana on casting one final spell: a mutual walking bomb. “If I go, you go,” he growled to Corypheus, meeting his eyes with some difficulty, the nastiest of smiles on his face.

The magister grimaced in frustration, renewing his intent on draining Dorian for power with a twist of his knife. Dorian cried out and Corypheus reveled in his pain, but it meant he didn't see the shining figure behind him, his furious, glowing eyes and the way he approached with a decidedly vengeful gait.

A white, glowing blade ran the magister through, and then Corypheus and Dorian just stared at each other for a tense moment, before Dorian released his curse and sent both of them flying in opposite directions with a loud  _ boom. _

Dorian hit the wall at the edge of the roof, and then slid down it, coughing and squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. His ears were ringing. Fat tears ran down his cheeks, blurring what was left of his vision.

It was over.

He leaned back against the stone behind him, closing his eyes. He was fading fast, out of mana and running out of blood. It hurt so much: his scars, the stab wound, his back. The only thought he could hold in his mind was the pain and how much he wanted it to stop. 

And then, it happened. His body stopped fighting it, overtaken by a strange sense of calm. Suddenly, he just knew: everything was going to be alright. He nodded to himself in understanding, acceptance, and relaxed into that feeling, stealing shallow breaths as his vision was filled with a comforting light.


End file.
